


make a wish

by yoghurtaes



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Struggles, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Graduation, How Do I Tag, I Tried, Lame attempt at humour, M/M, Overworking, Slice of Life, Summer Romances, dreams :), handball, handball player!san and star student!wooyoung, lots of cameos, no beta we die like men, sanhwa?, slight homophobia, sunrises and sunsets, wooyoung struggles financially but it's ok san's there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoghurtaes/pseuds/yoghurtaes
Summary: Jung Wooyoung is at the back right corner of the class, where San usually sits with Mingi (speaking of whom, he hadn't seen that day yet), a cup of what looks like coffee and a Monster energy drink can posing gracefully atop the table. San doesn't know what's wrong — but he comes to realize Wooyoung probably has a death wish when he pops the can open and dunks it into his cup of coffee."What are youdoing?" San exclaims, running to his seat. Wooyoung stares at him with glossy eyes, already holding the cup to his mouth."I'm going to die," he says blankly, before downing the whole thing in one go.(Or: Wooyoung makes some (really sad) wishes on a star. San just wants to know who his (really sad) soulmate is.)
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 53
Kudos: 166





	1. "I'm going to die." - Jung Wooyoung

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is your basic soulmate!woosan au set near the beginning of the 22nd century! (even though you can't really tell).  
> 2\. They're both so hilariously oblivious in this fic, just know you have a lot of facepalming coming up  
> 3\. Enjoy reading!!! I'll try to update as much as time allows me to ❤
> 
> \- micah, 13.03.20

**ANDROMEDA GALAXY HAS** long been known as the Galaxy of Heaven, or the Galaxy of Angels.

Parents tell their children the story of the angels in the galaxy next door, watching over us, making sure our every wish comes true. They tell it as a way of making their children's smiles a little bit wider, or as a way of seeing the galaxy itself shine in their eyes as they listen closely to the tales.

They always listen. And they're always mesmerized.

No one _actually_ knows if it's the truth, but the people who the angels decide to call.

To this day, the angels still live in Andromeda. They still look after us, bringing a reason to smile again. And now the century is over, and they're reselecting the agents for the coming one.

The agents that make sure every wish made on Earth comes true.

The year is 2099. It's a cold winter morning, with snow falling in flurries from the sky, and the Andromeda team is already hard at work.

"Have we finished assigning stars to everyone, Yeseul?"

The addressed girl looks up, shaking her head in reply. "No, sir. We still haven't decided who gets Polaris. You said to leave it for the last, because it's the most important one. It's still their Northern star."

Park Jimin's brows furrow. _Had he really said that?_

"Well." He sighs, looking at his secretary. "Do it quickly. Who are our candidates?"

Yeseul waves her hand in the air in front of her. Immediately a small Earth appeared, bobbing around, and she smiles before giving it a spin.

"Ah, Earth." Jimin exhales deeply, and he sounds wistful. "I forget how beautiful it is. Living here in Andromeda is so different from there."

Yeseul stops the spinning globe. Her finger is paused on South Korea, and she zooms in, allowing them to see a list of newborns who could possibly take on the job of an agent for the coming century.

"We have quite a few," Yeseul muses, leaning forward closer to the image. "Song Mingi. Jeong Yunho. Seo Changbin . . ."

She pauses, seeing her boss staring at the globe with glazed eyes. "Sir?"

Jimin blinks, trying to snap himself out of his trance. "Yes, Yeseul, please choose now."

"On it, sir." She snaps her fingers, and the names begin to move around until they were no more than a mere blur. The two wait in silence, Yeseul looking out for Jimin's signal to stop.

"There." Upon uttering the word, Yeseul has already put up her hand. The names have stopped, and one has been selected on random.

"Choi San . . ." Jimin whispers the name out. "Born July 10, 2099."

"Who do we assign as his starmate?" Yeseul waves her hand, and a new list returns. The title reads, _Polaris_ — the people who are destined to wish on that star.

"You're letting me choose?" Jimin laughs, looking at the names. _Kang Yeosang, Mark Lee, Choi Yeonjun . . ._

"Him." He zooms in to one of the names. It reads, _Jung Wooyoung — Born November 26, 2099._

"Why him?"

"I don't know, it just feels right." Jimin smiles. "I feel it in me, you know."

"What about the others, then?"

"We rewrite the stars." The picture disappears with a distinct wave of his hand. "And their fate shall be rewritten with it."

And in the Milky Way Galaxy, 2.5 million light-years away — a baby boy opens his eyes to a welcoming Christmas morning, unaware of the beautiful mark blooming on his collarbone — a gorgeous yet minuscule image of Ursae Minoris, Polaris shining _just_ a heartbeat brighter on his skin.

His fate had been arranged. Now it was his job to make sure every wish Jung Wooyoung made on Polaris were to come true — and on time.

****――――― ✧ ―――――  
18 YEARS LATER, 2117** **

******  
WOOYOUNG** can't sleep.

He's been trying to that since 10:30 that night. The clock on his wall currently reads 01:04 AM, and he's still awake. His pillowcase is damp with tears and he shivers from the bitter cold, the flimsy blanket on his body not being enough to provide warmth for him.

He feels sick. He just wants to fall asleep for once.

It's completely silent outside. His parents have stopped talking and he can no longer hear his older sister's heartbroken sobs. He pulls the blanket over his ear in an attempt to stop hearing the conversation he'd heard an hour ago. Thinking about it makes him want to cry all over again.

His family wasn't in the best place financially. They never were. Wooyoung's father's employer only gives him so much — one could barely pay the rent, bills and _barely_ scrape by with extra money for other basic needs with such an amount. His mother's unemployed, and his older sister had recently graduated from high school and wanted to pursue a career in flying. Even when they simply couldn't afford to send her to a decent flying school.

And that's why Wooyoung's parents are so intent on him becoming a scholarship student.

Wooyoung knows his mother doesn't mean to, but now he's getting sick of the amount of pressure put onto him every exam season. The constant reminder to study even when he knows he feels prepared enough. The yelling that comes with 12 marks lost. The silent treatments that follow. He's getting sick of all of it. He just wants to be _happy_ — but it looks like too much to ask for.

01:10 AM. Wooyoung kicks the blanket off his body, standing up. He feels cold, and he hugs himself in retaliation, rubbing his hands together furiously. Opening the window, he looks out — and he takes in a long, deep breath. Almost like it's his last. His eyes tear up from the cold and his hairs are standing up on end, but he's smiling for the first time that night.

When looking up at the sky, he feels comfort. He finds his safe place in these fascinating celestial bodies so many light-years away. The stars are what he always comes to when he can't sleep, when he can't focus, when he needs to take a breather. He loves the stars. Looking at those dots of light strewn into the vast darkness makes him feel whole again.

He feels hope.

Wooyoung catches the Ursae Minor constellation, and he closes his eyes, almost in a silent prayer.

He wishes. A tear rolls down his cheek, his breath hitches and his fingers go completely numb — all Wooyoung wants is for that wish to come true.

What was it?

_Oh, I just wish I could have a good day tomorrow. Just this once._

**――――― ✧ ―――――**

Two blocks down, Choi San awakes with a start, his mind trying to place its finger on whose voice it had just heard. _Surely_ no one was in his room? No one could be up at this time, right?

San blinks, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness of his room. He takes a minute to convince himself he isn't going crazy, slapping his cheeks several times.

Does he remember the words? Yes, he does. Clear as day — and he remembers the voice, too.

San sighs tiredly. He feels sleepy, yes. But he has a feeling he wasn't going to be able to sleep until he made sure he'd fulfilled what he'd just heard.

His starmate had made a wish.

That was what he'd heard. His starmate — soulmate, if you might — had made a wish and now his duty as an agent had officially begun. Unknowingly, his hand traces the mark on his collarbone — he looks down to see it burn a brilliant shade of silver, before the glow dies under his touch and goes back to black.

"Oh, wow," he whispers, still under shock. "I don't even know who it is."

He feels like he's heard the voice somewhere before, but for all he knew, his mind could be playing with him. He flops back down onto his bed, closing his eyes and trying to get himself to sleep.

He'll probably find that person tomorrow. By chance, or maybe it was already written in the stars. He smiles softly, snuggling deeper into his pillows.

_Don't worry — you'll have a wonderful day tomorrow, love.  
  
  
  
_

_**――――― ✧ ―――――** _

San's first class the next morning is Chemistry. And while he normally doesn't like all the lab experiments they do and all the things they have to byheart, San has to admit he's mildly interested in what he sees when he walks into the class that Monday.

Jung Wooyoung is at the back right corner of the class, where San usually sits with Mingi (speaking of whom, he hadn't seen that day yet), a cup of what looks like coffee and a Monster energy drink can posing gracefully atop the table. San doesn't know what's wrong — but he comes to realize Wooyoung probably has a death wish when he pops the can open and dunks it into his cup of coffee.

"What are you _doing_?" San exclaims, running to his seat. Wooyoung stares at him with glossy eyes, already holding the cup to his lips.

"I'm going to die," he says blankly, before downing the whole thing in one go.

San stares, wide-eyed.

"I — do you need a hug or something?" He offers, still not believing what he's just seen.

"No." Wooyoung rubs his eyes. "I just want to _sleep_."

"Understandable." San nods a bit too enthusiastically. "I'm Choi San, by the way," he adds, voice hopeful.

"I know." Wooyoung's voice comes muffled from his position with his head miserably on the table. "There's no one in Year 12 who doesn't know you."

"Oh."

A moment of silence. Then, "I'm Jung Wooyoung."

"Yes. Hi." San feels awkward to say this is the first time he's hearing his name, when it's been almost four months of them sharing the same Chemistry (and English, too, he thinks) class. He curls his fingers around the coffee cup on Wooyoung's table and shoots it into the dustbin next to Yeonjun's desk, mind racing for possible ways he can get to know Wooyoung better.

"Uh." San clears his throat. "Are you okay?"

"No." Wooyoung lifts his head, and for the first time, San sees Wooyoung's eyes — they're glossed over, misty, and have black circles underneath them. Clearly he hasn't been sleeping well. "Do I _look_ okay to you?"

"No, you don't," San agrees hastily. He sees their Chemistry teacher, Kim Namjoon, walk into the class through the corner of his eye. "But you better get up, the teacher's here now."

"Good morning, class!" The teacher calls, setting his file and backpack down on the table. He smiles widely at everyone in the class. "Ready for your unit test results?"

" _FUCK!_ " A voice that sounds like Changbin's echoes from the front of the class. A few people groan. San starts laughing, then quickly stops, realizing he's probably failing with him.

"What was the top score, teacher?" Yerim calls out.

"The top score? Let's talk about how many people _passed_ first."

San isn't touching him, but he _feels_ Wooyoung freeze next to him.

"There are around twenty-eight people in this class," Namjoon looks stern now, "And only twelve of you passed with a score above 20."

"Dang!" A boy yells. San's pretty sure it's Changbin again (he's the only one with the guts to say anything relative to a curse word in class). "What do the twelve of you do with your lives?"

There's no reply. 

An uncomfortable silence fills the class. San looks at Wooyoung, who still has his head on the desk. His shoulders tremble slightly. It's his first term studying with Wooyoung and he doesn't know if he's a star student or not — he's been pretty silent for all he knows. It doesn't really matter anymore, though — the results from the first unit tests are here now, and he's about to find out the standards of the class.

"I'm not going to go in mark order," Namjoon goes on, "But the first 12 people I call out are the people who passed."

Everyone shifts in their seats, nervous.

Namjoon starts calling out names. Wooyoung is still bent over the table, and if he cares, he doesn't show it. San finds himself subconsciously fiddling with his fingers, hoping for at least a pass mark.

"Do you think you'll pass?"

The sudden whisper makes San jump, and he turns around to see Wooyoung looking at him with his tired eyes. San just wants to tuck him into bed with a warm blanket and hot chocolate and let him sleep for as long as he liked.

"Uh . . ." San ponders the question for a minute Then he shakes his head, letting out a low chuckle. "Nah, probably not."

" —Yes, Jung Wooyoung, Choi San. Do you have something to share with the class or should I give Wooyoung his paper now?" Namjoon called out, making the two boys snap back to reality.

"Um." San swears Wooyoung's gone as white as a sheet. "My — my paper, sir."

Namjoon stares at the two boys for a solid minute, before breaking into a smile. "Congratulations, Wooyoung, you're the only person who got a full 40 on this paper. You, on the other hand," he looks at San, and his expression changes into mock disappointment. "Barely passed. A twenty-one out of a forty? You can do better."

"Hey, at least I passed," San grins as he's handed his paper from an equally amused Namjoon. He turns to look at Wooyoung, who's looking at his paper with stars in his eyes.

"Oh my god, I did it," he whispers, sounding like he was going to cry. "I didn't lose any marks this time."

"That's great!" San claps for Wooyoung, happy to see the latter crack a smile back. He already looks more alive — somehow San felt like this paper was half the reason he seemed so dead this morning.

"Alright, class. The rest of you, I'm sorry to say, didn't pass." When he doesn't get any reaction from the class, he retracts his statement. "Who am I kidding," he exclaims, "I ain't sorry at all. It's your fault for not studying."

San's heart feels full when he sees Wooyoung laughing along with the rest of them.  
  
  
  


**――――― ✧ ―――――**

Wooyoung still remembers the look of betrayal on Changbin's face when San chose him as a partner for their English project. He has to hold in his laughter, thinking about it. Mingi, San's seatmate and usual partner, was absent and so San was left with Wooyoung as a last resort (and he didn't look too upset about it, so that's a win). Changbin ended up pairing with Yeonjun in the end (Wooyoung still can't help but think he's still salty about it, though, but he knows it's all in good fun).

Wooyoung's currently waiting outside the cafe San has disappeared into, hugging himself for warmth. He has his jacket completely zipped but he still shivers in the harsh winter cold. A little part of him is looking forward to spring now — he wasn't built for weather like this.

"Hey." San emerges from the cafe, holding two cups of steaming coffee in his hands.

"I got you one, too." San hands him his cup. Wooyoung takes it thankfully, appreciating the heat warming up his numb hands.

"No energy drink this time, though. Don't want you to die a second time." San grins, and Wooyoung laughs. He likes San. Why hadn't he talked to him earlier?

"Let's head to the library, shall we?" San motions up the street where the National Library is, and Wooyoung nods. He likes the fact that San is so intent on reading up books from the last decade for their project, when they could have just as easily done that within the comforts of their own homes using their iPad Max's.

Wooyoung finds the people who still live along the early 21st-century aesthetics super adorable.

San seems to be one of them, still reading books, buying physical albums (they'd talked about their favourite artists during English class, and San said he collects them), taking photos using a camera (San mentioned it while talking about the YG Family concert he'd gone to a few months back) and listening to artists like BTS. Wooyoung can't help but smile as he hops along down the pavement, entering the library like a little puppy.

He follows close behind, not losing San through the maze of shelves until he stops at a place he claims to be the best one in the whole building.

"See," San declares, "there's access to the desks, computers, sofas and sockets from this corner. And the coffee machine —" San points down the row of tables to the opposite side of the building — "Is right there, so help yourself!"

"You sound like you've been here a lot." Wooyoung actually feels impressed. San looks like he knows this place like the back of his hand.

They get started on their project soon enough. The two of them hoard a bunch of books onto a desk first, then eliminate books until they've decided on one to work with. They sit together, huddled over the book, under the bright glow of the desk lamp for over two hours — scribbling away on their notebooks, sharing ideas, compiling what they felt would work best. Through these two hours, San and Wooyoung talk a little more about themselves — and by the time the clock strikes six-thirty, they've finished half their project and Wooyoung has a new friend.

"We can finish it off tomorrow after school if you're willing to do it," San suggests as they head out of the library. Wooyoung nods curtly — his parents wouldn't mind if it was anything to do with his schoolwork.

"Thanks for pairing up with me, by the way," Wooyoung adds, hoping he sounded thankful enough. San grins widely, and Wooyoung spots the cute dimples that have found their way through. _Aw, how adorable._

"Of course!" San pulls the straps of his backpack as he speaks. "Just don't mix a stupid concoction like that in front of me ever again. And certainly not in a Chemistry class."

"Got it." Wooyoung finds himself laughing. They turn around to head their separate ways, when San looks back and calls, "don't forget to sleep well tonight, okay?"

Wooyoung pauses. He thinks for a moment, then nods, trying to smile it off.

"Of course I will!" He shouts back reassuringly, almost in an attempt to convince himself he will.

That night, before Wooyoung drifts off to sleep, he realizes his wish had come true one way or the other. His Chemistry results were amazing, his mother had cooked him tteokbokki (clearly she was happy too), he'd made a new friend and he felt like he could sleep for once.

Wooyoung smiles, half asleep.

"Thank you, to whoever's out there," he murmurs, before his eyes close.

San doesn't hear it, but he's smiling, too.


	2. Kang Yeosang is Psychic?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's sick," Yeosang deadpans.
> 
> San squints. "Yeah, I know, he's hella rad. Drank coffee with a Monster energy drink yesterday morning. Managed to get full marks in Chem too, like who does that?"
> 
> Yeosang looks like he wants to throw a chair at San's face.
> 
> "I mean." Yeosang shakes his head, then laughs. "He's actually sick. He has a high fever and indigestion, apparently."
> 
> "OH." It hits San like a truck. "Oh, I'm sorry, tell him to get well soon."

**WOOYOUNG** wakes up feeling nauseous.

He knows something's utterly wrong when he feels the insides of his stomach writhe and boil. Immediately, he throws off his blanket, opening the door and bursting into the toilet just when he retches, hurling last night's dinner. (Oh, what a waste of that good tteokbokki.)

He feels disgusted. Holding his forehead, he retches a few more times, until he feels his stomach is completely clear. His head is spinning, and his nose is runny. What had he done to fall as sick as this?

He opens the door to his room, peeking out to see if anyone was up. It was still dark. He hasn't drawn the curtains to his room but there's no light filtering through them.

"Alexa," Wooyoung calls hoarsely. "What's the time?"

There's a moment of silence as his AI processes the question.

"It is currently 03:57 AM," Alexa replies in her monotonous voice. Wooyoung shuts the door to his room. Great. No one would be up at this time, and he didn't want to disturb his mother. 

Helpless and dizzy, he flops back down onto his bed, and his eyes closed for a fleeting moment. When he feels his breathing return to normal (he can still taste his vomit in his mouth, though, and it's very unsettling), he takes his phone, dialling a number.

He waits as it rings. He prays that he'll pick up – he just needs someone to talk to.

There's a click as the other end picks up.

"Hello?" A sleepy voice murmurs through the phone.

"Sang," Wooyoung tries being as quiet as possible. "Sang, I've fallen ill and I don't know what to do. I can't wake my mom up."

"Go wake her up, you dumbass, she isn't going to eat you." Yeosang sounds tired. Wooyoung sighs.

"I know, I know," his voice increases in pitch, "I just threw up everything I had for dinner. There's no food and I'm pretty sure my mother wouldn't appreciate being woken up at this hour."

"Hey." Yeosang's voice fell an octave. Wooyoung froze – that meant he wasn't about to hear _any_ shit from him.

"If I care about you enough to pick up a fucking phone call at this hour," he scolds, "your mother wouldn't mind being woken up. Go on."

"B-but Yeosang, she'll do anything to send me to school. And I don't think I can . . ." Wooyoung trails off, feeling a lump rising in his throat.

Silence.

"She's not going to send you if you're sick, Wooyoung, no one will. Listen, just skip today, okay? I'll stop by your house after school." Yeosang finalizes it, and Wooyoung knows there's no arguing against him. He mumbles a half-hearted ' _yes,_ ' into the phone and hangs up.

Wooyoung glances at the closed curtains, itching to go and open them. He knows it'll make him feel better – and so he gets up reluctantly, drawing the curtains open and looking out.

The stars shine as bright as ever, and a part of Wooyoung wishes to be akin to them. His eyes scan the sky for _his_ star – Polaris – and he, almost immediately, feels a sense of relief wash over him as he spots the Northern Star. His head feels clearer, and he feels a bit more alive. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear his stomach go off again, but it's the least of his worries now.

Wooyoung closes his eyes. And he wishes again.

This time, for things to get better for him.  
  
  
  


**――――― ✧ ―――――**

The next time Wooyoung wakes up, it's already light out, and he feels horrible all over again.

He makes a quick run to the bathroom, throwing up once before he brushes his teeth and washes his face, all in an attempt to make himself feel better and look presentable.

As he comes out of the bathroom, he strains his ears for any sign of noise downstairs – he hears nothing. His mother was probably in her room, his father gone to work and chances were that Haeun was still asleep. He lies down on his bed again, opening his phone.

The time was 7:15.

Strange. Surely that meant someone had been to his room?

Wooyoung has a gut feeling that it's his mother. He contemplates between going to sleep again and going to check up on her – then decided on the latter, getting up again and waddling down the hallway to his parents' room.

"Mum?" He calls, knocking on the door softly.

"Come in, dear."

He opens the door and walks into the room, where his mother lies on the bed, probably trying to catch some sleep herself.

"Mum, I-" The words seem foreign to him. He can't bring himself to say _he's skipping school._ He's _sick._ He's always been better than _this._

"I, sort of got . . . sick." He manages. He braces himself for the ' _yeah, but you're not dying, are you? You can walk and talk, right? So go put on your uniform, you have to go to school, there's no way you can skip –'_

"I know, sweetie." His mother smiles at him. "I went to wake you up around six because you slept through your five o'clock alarm. You had a sweltering fever then."

"Oh?" Wooyoung is surprised.

"Come here. Do you still feel sick?"

Quickly, Wooyoung tells her how he'd thrown up again that morning, and had felt dizzy and tired when he had woken up earlier as well. Mrs Jung listens intently, assessing her youngest son's health.

"M-mum." Wooyoung stops speaking for a moment, his eyes tearing up. "You – you're not going to for – force me to go to school, right? Right?"

"No, I'm not! What on Earth are you on about?" Mrs Jung exclaims, holding her arms open. Wooyoung hugs his mother for the first time in what feels like forever, crying softly.

"You're sick. You've been under a lot of pressure, and I'm sorry about it." His mother rubs his back soothingly.

"I'm sorry about everything, Youngie. There are so many things we want to give you and your sister that we simply can't." She pauses, close to tears herself.

"We have really, _really_ high hopes for you and I think it's been taking a toll on you mentally. I'm sorry about it. I'm sorry I'm so harsh on you."

"You say I – I never try, and it m-makes me feel like I shouldn't have a life besides st-studying." Mrs Jung feels a bit of her heart break.

"No, sweetheart. I'm sorry you think that way. I'm sorry I've _made_ you think that way." Mrs Jung's arms tighten around her son.

"Please tell me what I do wrong as a parent. You've been doing well, and we want you to keep it up. Nothing more, nothing less. Okay?"

Wooyoung nods, wiping his tears away using his sleeve. He stays in his mother's embrace for what he feels like a few minutes, until he feels his eyelids burdening him, threatening to close.

Jung Wooyoung falls asleep on his mother's shoulder for the first time in ten years that day. And neither of them mind.  
  
  
  


**――――― ✧ ―――――**

San walks into class the next morning to see Song Mingi sitting in his rightful seat, grinning widely at him.

"Hi." He calls, in a voice that makes San want to slap him and hug him at the same time. "Missed me?"

"Like hell I did." San's bright smile gives it away, though, and Mingi knows he's just playing around. "Where've you been?"

"Moving." Mingi states bluntly.

San blinks.

"Moving? You're moving _now_ too."

"No, dumbass. We moved _homes_." 

"Ah, you did." San frowns. "Since when –"

"Dang, San, I told you we'd be moving before Christmas break!" Mingi sighs. "We only settled down yesterday, you know, organizing and stuff.

"You _did_?"

"Yeah, they weren't kidding when they said you have the memory span of a goldfish." Mingi turns away from San, facing the front of the class. The latter chuckles.

San doesn't realize it then, but a part of him is constantly checking for Wooyoung. They have English the first thing that morning, and San is reminded of their project work, which is due on Friday.

Why isn't he showing up?

Class begins at 7:25. It's double English, and it carries on until 8:35. They're assigned a reading comprehension to finish in the first period, then are allowed to continue their project work in the second period, making San wonder about Wooyoung even more. Even though he'd never noticed his persona much in the class, he always showed up to school. Even if he _knew_ was sick (he remembers one occasion in Chemistry, when he had to leave the class because he coughed so hard blood was dripping down his mouth. He had a sore throat and didn't show up the next three days) he'd at least show up before someone caught on and sent him home.

The kid was all about school. And honestly, it made San sad (and sort of shame himself, because when did he ever care as much as Wooyoung did? Probably never).

The first four periods end at 9:45 and they're let out for a break of ten minutes. San remains in his seat as Mingi heads out to talk to his friend in the next class (he faintly remembers the name to be Jeong Yunho. Maybe it's just San, but Mingi really looks like he has a huge crush), burying his face in his palms in anticipation for the next class.

"Hey."

San looks up to see a boy looking down at him, his eyes sparkling. _He looks like an actual prince, holy shit._

"Uh, hi." San sits up, fixing his hair and stretching a bit.

"I don't think we've met before." The boy points to Mingi's seat, "Do you mind me sitting here?"

"Ah, no, not at all."

San watches as the boy scoots out the chair and sits down.

"So. I'm Kang Yeosang," the boy introduces himself. He speaks so _prettily_ , it's almost like he was raised in a royal household.

"And I'm taking it that you're Choi San?"

"Yes, that's me. I think." The words are out before he can stop himself. Yeosang looks at him oddly, then laughs.

"You've probably been wondering where Wooyoung is, am I right?" He goes on. "I've been told you both were partners for the English project your class is working on."

"Oh, yes." San is surprised. _Is Yeosang psychic?_

"He's sick," Yeosang deadpans.

San squints. "Yeah, I know, he's hella rad. Drank coffee with a Monster energy drink yesterday morning. Managed to get full marks in Chem too, like who does that?"

Yeosang looks like he wants to throw a chair at San's face.

"I mean." Yeosang shakes his head, then laughs. "He's _actually_ sick. He has a high fever and indigestion, apparently."

"OH." It hits San like a truck. "Oh, I'm sorry, tell him to get well soon."

"I actually came to show you this, he wanted to apologize to you," Yeosang takes out his phone, and then San's being shown their conversation from a few minutes ago.

09:21 **  
woobear  
** hey sangie

09:21  
 **woobear  
** ur prolly in class rn but can you do something for me?

09:21  
 **woobear  
** can you talk to choi san for me pls

09:21  
 **woobear  
** he'll be in class 2-B during the first break, tell him im sorry :(

09:22  
 **yeoyeosang  
** noted

"Poor boy," San pouts, handing the phone back to Yeosang. "Tell him it's okay and not to worry, I'll convince Miss Wendy to give us an extension."

"Sure." Yeosang raises an eyebrow.

"Do you know where he lives, by the way?" San adds, an idea popping into his mind. He remembers the time when he was ten, when he had woken up feeling like he was about to shit himself but ended up hurling a minute after. Ah, it's one of the worst feelings.

"Oh, yeah," Yeosang nods. "I've been his best friend for five years, his family's pretty much my second family now."

"Do you plan on visi –" **  
**

"Yeah, you can tag along." Yeosang shuts the conversation down as quickly as it started. He leaves the class in a flurry, and San smells the soft perfume trailing behind him.

 _Kang Yeosang is a psychic,_ he makes a mental note.

As if on cue, the bell rings.   
  
  
  


**――――― ✧ ―――――**

The last thing Wooyoung expects to get that day were visitors.

Imagine the look of surprise on his face when his mother opens the door that afternoon to see his best friend, along with Choi San himself, standing there.

"Huh?" He spluttered, sitting up. He's currently only in a pair of shorts and his hair is the equivalent of a bird's nest. He feels colour rush to his cheeks as he locks gazes with San.

"Hi, Yeosang sweetie!" Mrs Jung envelops the smaller of the two boys into a warm hug. "It's been a while. And hi," she smiles at San, who bows and smiles back, "you must be San. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," San replies, earning a pat on his head from the woman.

"Go sit with Wooyoung, I'll go get some snacks for you."

"Hey." When Mrs Jung leaves the living room, Yeosang runs over to Wooyoung and tackles him into a hug, San laughing at the sight of the two best friends.

"You feeling better now?"

"I mean, sort of." Wooyoung scratches his head, grinning. "I was able to eat lunch without throwing up, but I couldn't taste anything."

"I brought you something," San pipes in. The trio falls silent as he opens his backpack, taking out a small bag filled with what looks like packets and cards of pills.

"Um . . . it's nothing much, just ORS and some Alka-seltzer." He hands it to a stricken Wooyoung, who takes it with wide eyes.

"Hey," he squeaks, "you didn't have to."

San laughs. "It helps, I know what you're going through. And oh, Miss Wendy said it's okay to pass the project in by next Monday, so please don't stress and rest well, okay?"

Wooyoung's eyes soften. "Thanks."

"I have your notes," Yeosang, who'd been scavenging his backpack, brings out a bundle of copied papers – notes, worksheets and the reading comprehension they'd done in English that morning.

"If you don't understand anything, just text me. Or him." Yeosang points to San.

"Wait, I don't have his number." Wooyoung looks at San, then grabs his phone from the sofa, handing it to him.

"Type it down." Wooyoung says, and he's given San's phone as well. He saves his contact as, "Wooyoung 🤪" and when he's handed back his phone, San's number is saved as a mountain emoji.

The pun makes him burst out into laughter.

"Here, I have some sandwiches and drinks for you!" Wooyoung's mother calls from the kitchen. "Come on, three of you!"

The three of them exchange looks before getting up. Wooyoung heads to his room to put a shirt on, and Yeosang leads San to the kitchen, where they sit down to a modest but appetizing array of food.

"Help yourselves." Wooyoung's mother smiles. Wooyoung joins them a minute later, now dressed in a grey jersey. They enjoy the delicious tuna sandwiches from Mrs Jung, and sit at the dinner table talking for a while, until San reminds Wooyoung to take the medicines he'd brought.

Before San knows it, it's already past sunset.

Time passes when he's at Wooyoung's house, and San goes home knowing Wooyoung a little bit better than he did yesterday.

And he hopes it'll continue on just like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave kudos if ur enjoying so far :')) <3 mwah


	3. When The Rain Cancels Handball Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Open!" A hoarse voice calls out. San opens the door, the warmth greeting him like a long-lost old friend.
> 
> Wooyoung is, once again, lying on the sofa (this time he's dressed, though, in a hoodie that was twice his size and a pair of gym shorts) – San hears the familiar opening of Friends, and by the snacks on the table, it becomes obvious that Wooyoung was having a relaxed evening.
> 
> "H-Hi." He manages, smiling sheepishly. Wooyoung immediately springs up from his seat, turning off the TV and glancing at San in horror.
> 
> "Wha –" he stammers. "What are you doing? Why are you wearing that in this weather?"

San loves playing handball.

There's something about it – a thrill he possibly couldn't get from any other sport (okay, maybe volleyball's a close second), an adrenaline rush that's present after literally every match he plays. Even if it's for fun.

He can't think of a better sport to be playing than handball.

He's been on the school team since he was fourteen. That was the year the school first ventured out into the handball field. Now he's eighteen, his fourth consecutive year on the team, and he's finally been chosen as captain.

(He says _finally_ like he's been waiting for it a long time. And that really isn't that wrong of a fact.)

San plays as a centre-back for the team. Coach Jung (who has seen baby Sani evolve into the player he is today) chose San as a centre-back when he was sixteen and this would be the third (and final) year he'd be playing as a Danwon High representative. He feels sad. Handball had grown to be a huge part of his life and he couldn't ever imagine having to let it go.

Currently he's sitting on the ground with the rest of his teammates, waiting for Coach Jung to arrive. In the far distance, the sky is illuminated by blinding flashes of lightning, and San has a bad feeling that day's practice was on the verge of being nonexistent.

"Do you think we should start with the warm-ups?" Yeonjun pipes in. "It'll save time when Coach arrives."

Everyone turns to look at San.

"I have no objections," San shrugs. "Let's go, team. 15 rounds around the court for warm-ups, then we do the stretching."

He looks around to see if anyone's ready to protest against the 15 rounds of jogging, but no one is, so they line up and start training. Of course, there are the younger boys on the team that are still new and pretend to tie their laces in between laps so they can catch their breath – but San isn't about to yell at them. Not just yet.

They're finishing up the 13th round when San, at the front of the line, feels a fat raindrop land on his nose. He falters, making the team slow down behind him.

"Do we keep running?" A boy calls from the back. Clearly they've felt it too.

More raindrops. A few kids shriek.

"Yeah, we do," San calls, already breaking into a sprint, "but we run home now."

The team runs back towards the benches, screaming like children, and grab at their bags over each other's shoulders. Before San is able to brief the team, they've scattered – and he groans internally.

The rain is beginning to fall heavily now and he's further from home than he'd ever bothered to think about. The closest place he can think of is Changbin's place, but he doubts he'll be home – he's normally working at the studio at this hour.

San feels his phone buzz against the back of his thigh. There's a flash for a split second and thunder breaks through Seoul as loud as a thousand people playing one huge drumroll. Choosing to ignore his vibrating phone, he decides to follow in his teammates' footsteps and run – and then he remembers.

_Wooyoung lives right down the block._

A rush of emotions flow in through San's mind – _he's still sick, you dumbass! What if he's at the hospital or something? And oh, look, you have nothing to give him. Should I be happy or ashamed? Jesus, San._ – and he trudges through the falling rain, trying to make up his mind.

Around five minutes later, San finds himself at the all-too-familiar City Bakery outlet he often visits after practices, buying a cold ham croissant and a chocolate muffin. He hopes Wooyoung will like it (from what he's seen, he doesn't seem to be a very picky eater) – and exits the shop, apologizing to the worker for leaving muddy tracks behind. He's cold and shivering, and is willing to do anything to get into the warmth of a house.

It's not long before San spots Wooyoung's apartment. He breathes out in relief, blinking rapidly to reassure that it was, indeed, the same building he'd come to before and that he wasn't just seeing shit through the falling rain. He breaks into a run now, bursting through the double doors of the building and heading straight for the lifts. Give a few seconds and he's standing in front of Wooyoung's door, droplets of water running all down his body as he visibly shivers. He brings a shaky finger to press the doorbell and he hears the ring go off from inside the apartment.

"Open!" A hoarse voice calls out. San opens the door, the warmth greeting him like a long-lost old friend.

Wooyoung is, once again, lying on the sofa (this time he's dressed, though, in a hoodie that was twice his size and a pair of gym shorts) – San hears the familiar opening of Friends, and by the snacks on the table, it becomes obvious that Wooyoung was having a relaxed evening.

"H-Hi." He manages, smiling sheepishly. Wooyoung immediately springs up from his seat, turning off the TV and glancing at San in horror.

"Wha –" he stammers. "What are you _doing_? Why are you wearing that in this weather?" San's team jersey consists of a pair of shorts and a sleeveless top. Both were clinging to his frame now, and San is willing to do anything to get out of them.

"I had practice but the rain cancelled it," San explains huffily. Wooyoung disappears into one of the rooms visible from where San was standing, and he sees the boy digging in his closet desperately.

"I'm sorry," San exclaims on instinct. "Your house was the first and last option I had."

"Did I ever ask for an apology?" Wooyoung tosses him a fluffy towel, and San catches it gratefully, drying himself off.

"No, you didn't, but I still feel like I owe you an apology." San is watching as Wooyoung goes back to hunting in his closet, and before he knows it, he's handed a hoodie and a pair of pants similar to what Wooyoung's wearing.

"Get changed," Wooyoung says, pointing to the bathroom, "you seriously look like you're freezing."

Within the next ten minutes, San changed out of his damp jersey (Wooyoung offered to dry it for him) and into Wooyoung's clothes, and he joins the latter on the sofa where he's now watching a video on some chemical element San doesn't even recognize. _Does that say Moscovium? What the fuck?_

"Here." A thick blanket is hurled at San's face. "Bundle up."

"What about you?" San questions quietly, unfolding the blanket. "You don't have one."

"I know." Wooyoung's eyes are still on the screen. "It's fine. I just need you to stay warm."

Silence. Then, "thanks for the croissant and the muffin, by the way. You've gone and done it again, how do I pay you back?"

"You don't need to." San feels happy, lying on the sofa opposite to Wooyoung, wrapped in the blanket much like a burrito. He's warm, comfortable and feeling unusually relaxed – normally he'd never step foot into the house of someone he'd only become friends with a week or two ago, but this time, San feels, is different.

Time passes with the two boys lying there, browsing through Youtube, Netflix and TV shows – San telling Wooyoung about handball and Wooyoung telling him about how he used to be a swimmer – occasionally stopping to help themselves with the snacks arranged on the table, taking a few dumb selfies and candid photos, and even doing some unauthentic Karaoke from Youtube (which was them just singing along to literally any song they knew the words to).

Now the time is 22:04. The room is silent and dark with the only source of light coming from the TV. The rain has calmed to a slight drizzle, and there's the ending theme of Little Busters playing softly in the background. Both Wooyoung and San have fallen asleep – now somehow sharing San's blanket, their knees briefly in contact with each other's. Neither of them hears the keys turn in the lock or see Wooyoung's mother coming into this warm sight – a small laugh escapes her lips as she turns the lights off again, letting the two boys sleep peacefully.

Wooyoung's the one to wake up much, _much_ later into the night at around two – and at first, he's taken aback seeing San lying across from him, his lips in a slight pout, clutching the blanket to him like his life depended on it. Smiling unconsciously, he gets up, stretching San's legs out for him – then tucks him in properly, even bringing some extra pillows from his room. When he feels San's comfortable enough, he heads back to his own room, crashing onto his bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

To him, everything feels like a fever dream.   
  


  
  
**――――― ✧ ―――――**

"Wooyoung?"

He opens an eye reluctantly, trying to adjust to the bright sunlight filtering in through his curtains.

"What?" Wooyoung groans, sitting up. Before he can fully wake up, the events of yesterday come crashing onto him, and he's jolted to full consciousness with a gasp – he sees the figure of San standing in front of him, and backs away on instinct, crawling back into his bed.

San laughs. "Good morning. I fell asleep without meaning to."

"Uhhh, yeah, now let's pray you don't get sick, " Wooyoung grins awkwardly. "Why don't you call your mother and let her know where you are?"

"Already did that. She was worried sick." San scratches the back of his neck. "Had to explain to her that you're a friend and your apartment was the only option I had when it started raining, sorry again."

"Don't sweat it," Wooyoung waves a hand at him nonchalantly, getting off the bed. "Yesterday was a lot of fun, anyway. Made me feel way better than any medicine could."

Wooyoung heads for the bathroom. San stands in his position next to the bed, letting Wooyoung's words properly sink into him.

_Made me feel way better than any medicine could._

San feels his heart turn to mush inside him. _Wow, some people are truly so soft.  
  
  
  
_

**――――― ✧ ―――――**

It's a Saturday, which only meant one thing to Wooyoung: blueberry muffins for breakfast.

Blueberry muffins on Saturday mornings have been a family tradition for as long as Wooyoung could remember. He remembers eleven-year-old Wooyoung waddling into his house hand-in-hand with Yeosang after going swimming with the rest of their class, and being greeted with the delicious smell of blueberries and muffins. He remembers thirteen-year-old Wooyoung getting blueberry muffins for breakfast on the Saturday following the end of their exam week. He remembers fourteen-year-old Wooyoung, grumpy from staying up late to study Biology, immediately feeling better after a bite of his mother's blueberry muffin. If he really thinks about it, blueberry muffins are a huge part of the reason why Wooyoung enjoys weekend breakfasts so much. He doubted his Saturdays would be complete without blueberry muffins. It was something Wooyoung always associated with home.

San was absolutely delighted to have been asked to stay over for breakfast – and he also got to meet Wooyoung's older sister Haeun, and Mr Jung (who took a great liking to San). Wooyoung's family made him feel like a part of them, and San appreciates the gesture.

There wasn't a huge assortment of food for breakfast (San still thought the blueberry muffins, omelettes and chocolate milk was enough, though) but the family seemed to enjoy it and didn't mind having one extra person at the table. Mrs Jung was quick to note that Wooyoung was doing considerably better now – and oh, wow, the smile that appeared on the latter's face was enough to make San start crying out of softness.

"Do you want to finish up that English project before your practice today?" Wooyoung asks, putting his dishes into the sink.

"Oh, yeah, sure!" San agrees quickly. "We could head down to the library again if you like . . .?"

"Fine by me!"

By 9:45 that same morning, the two boys are back to their previous spot in the library earlier that week, finishing up their project. Wooyoung is writing as San reads (they already decided that they'll let Haeun proofread the whole thing because Fuck the English language, am I right) and by lunchtime, their project is done, ready to be handed in to Miss Wendy (Haeun read it over for them and made some minor edits, but otherwise they were clear).

"Let's go get some food," San stretches, yawning. "I need to eat two hours before practice."

They opt for KFC, which is right down the street. When they walk in through the double doors of the building, they already have their orders decided – so make their way to the counter, greeting the blonde boy standing behind the monitor politely.

"Hello!" The boy smiles back widely, "may I take your orders?"

"Uh, yes please. We'd like two Zinger burgers, one Sprite, one Coke, and two ten-piece nugget combos . . . it's on me," San adds, drawing out his wallet before Wooyoung can even open his mouth. The cashier chuckles, choosing out their orders from his monitor and giving them their total price.

"Cash or card?" The boy asks. San hands him his card without saying a word, turning to look at Wooyoung (who's still standing there with glazed eyes).

"You okay?" He waves a hand in front of the latter's face. Wooyoung blinks, sighing and smiling at San.

"Yeah . . . I'm fine." _Nah, I'm forever in San's debt at this point._

"Thank you for ordering, please wait while we prepare your meal!" The boy behind the counter informs them. San nods in reply, with Wooyoung squints at his nametag, trying to make out the letters written on it.

"Yeah . . . thanks," Wooyoung is still squinting at the nametag, "uhhh?"

"Felix." The boy laughs. "Lee Felix. I think I know you."

"Heh?" Wooyoung looks up at the boy, pointing at himself. "Me?"

". . . Yes, you," Felix raises an eyebrow. "Haeun's younger brother, right?"

"Oh wait," Wooyoung gasps. "You're Rachel's brother?"

"Yep. That's me."

"Oh my god." Wooyoung groans, pulling a laugh from both Felix and San.

"There was one point when _all_ Haeun did was talk about Rachel and her accent. On _god_ I wanted to throw her out of the window."

Felix grins widely. "Glad you didn't, because Rachel does like Haeun a lot."

Before they can make sense of what he had just said, their trays are given to them – and the two of them carry it to a vacant table and set it down, heart-eyes glued to the food.

"Why did you do this?" Wooyoung whines, sitting across from San. "I seriously don't know how to pay you back."

"Do people not treat you like this often?" San glances at Wooyoung, who's gone red in the face. San chuckles, reaching over to pinch Wooyoung's cheek.

"Then I'll make sure to treat you even more."

"Literally shut the fuck up, I'll feel tempted to shove this whole nugget into your mouth." Wooyoung pouts.

"Bet."  
  
  
  


**――――― ✧ ―――――**

After their 'lunch' at KFC, Wooyoung and San go separate ways to their own houses. Wooyoung made San promise it was okay to come and watch the Under-19 boys' team practice – so San wasn't surprised when he saw Wooyoung's tiny figure waddle into the field later that afternoon, while he was gathering the team for warm-ups.

" _HI!_ " Wooyoung yells, " _GOOD LUCK!_ "

" _YEAH THANKS, NOW PLEASE GO SIT DOWN!_ " He calls back, making a few people on the team giggle.

Jung Hoseok watches, amused. "Reminds me of when Namjoon used to watch all my handball practices and matches when we were in school together."

San pauses, halfway through a lunge. "You and teacher Namjoon studied together?"

"Yeah, we're the same age," Hoseok laughs wholeheartedly. "Used to be the class nerd, for real. He'd treat me to ice cream after every practice. Sometimes we'd go for chicken if he felt like it."

"Aw, cute," Yeonjun pouts.

San finishes off with the dynamic stretches, signalling to their coach that they were ready to begin. 

"Alright. Jongho, Hyunsuk, move aside and begin your goalkeeper stretches. Rest of you," Hoseok looks over the 12 heads bobbing up and down around him. "Two by two passing around the court, three laps. Go!"

And just like that, practice starts. Two by two passing drills changed to three, then to one-on-one feinting, to two-on-two, then three-on-three – then they practised fast breaks (San and Youngjae fell while running, and grazed their knees and palms), ending the training with penalty shots.

"Suicide drills if at least eight of you don't get goals in," Hoseok muses, watching the boys gulp down their water desperately. They were too tired to complain.

"Come on, team, you can do this."

First up is the team's captain and centre-back, Choi San. He steps up to the line, careful to note he's not stepping across – he smiles at Jongho sweetly before he hears the shrill blow of the whistle. San raises his right leg and does one feint with his arm before shooting the ball with all his might – they watch, breathless, as the ball barely misses Jongho's fingertips and collides with the top left corner of the net.

The boys in line go ballistic with happiness. Hoseok laughs, watching them. San moves to his coach's right – the first person to get a penalty in, and he hopes he's not the last.

"One down. Seven more goals to score and eleven of you left. You can do it."

Next up is Choi Yeonjun, their most trustworthy right-back. He lines up with the goal and shoots, only to have his penalty cancelled – "How many times do I tell you to _not move your damn foot_?" – and he's moved to the left, much to the dismay of the team.

Only three people can make mistakes now – or it was an impending death sentence just waiting, lying under the scorching afternoon heat. For all of them.

After Yeonjun, goes Choi Soobin, one of the seven 11th year players on the team. He, too, gets a goal in – and he joins San on Hoseok's right. When the first seven have finished, San, Soobin, Chan and Haknyeon stand on the right side – and Yeonjun, Hyunjin and Yohan stand on the left. There are five people left and only one person could make a mistake. Everyone else had to get their goals in, one way or the other.

Jihoon, the next person in line, gets the penalty right but his ball doesn't make it in. He silently apologizes to the team as he moves to the left.

"Boys?" Hoseok calls, feeling the nervousness rising in the remaining four players. "You've gone and reduced the margin of error into a zero. Get the goals in, or –" the team's yells of despair shut Hoseok up – "you know what's waiting."

Wooyoung, sitting behind the team bench in the first row seats, hears and sees everything (he's seen San fall and now it's all he can think about) and is now, unsurprisingly, praying for the rest of the four players to get their goals in. Although it seemed unlikely to happen against two skilled goalkeepers, the players also happened to have the skill to weave around it.

So Wooyoung isn't a tad bit surprised when not only Jisung, but Seungmin, Sunwoo and Youngjae also get their goals in – one final blow of the whistle has the team roaring in happiness, ecstatic at having avoided possibly one of the worst punishments they could've faced after a day of training.

"You guys did great," San gives both of the goalkeepers a hug, as the team gathers their bags and begin getting ready to go home. He looks at the rest of the boys, beaming – "And so did all of you."

Hoseok makes sure their water bottles are empty, reminding them to put ice on any injuries and to rest well the following day. The boys do their yell in one loud, collective voice – and training for the day comes to an end.

San slings his bag over his shoulder, wincing as the fabric comes into contact with the torn skin on his palm. He hears footsteps behind him and looks around to see Wooyoung running towards him, his eyes full of concern.

"Dude," he reaches San and immediately grabs his hands, examining both carefully.

"Are you okay? You fell _hard_ ," Wooyoung bends down and lifts the end of San's shorts to see his right knee decorated with a web of dried blood – he looks up at the older boy, who's gazing at him, laughing.

"I'm fine, Wooyoung, I just feel the sting harder today," San reassures him. "I've dealt with this countless times."

"But take care when you're showering –"

"Yeah, I will, worrywart."

"I – I'm trying to be a nice friend, okay?"

And the banter continues as the two walk out of the field and onto the roads – and from the distance, you'd have assumed they were best friends who'd known each other for a long, long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi!!! i hope ur enjoying this fic so far (and if u are, pls leave kudos & comments they rlly make my day :C)! i've just come here to put out a playlist link for this fic - yes, kind of early on, but!! it's worth listening to! here's a bit.ly link ( spoti.fi/soulmates-in-the-stars ) type it into a browser to access the playlist!!! thenk u for reading <3


	4. Choi San: Physics God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Before I begin, did I give you the worksheet on empirical and molecular formulae? I think I gave them out to the –"
> 
> "Excuse me."
> 
> Namjoon stops talking, head snapping towards the door. Wooyoung stands there, looking at Namjoon through tired, puffy eyes. San perks up immediately. Something's wrong – Wooyoung's never late to class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before we begin, thank you for the 39 kudos and nearly 300 hits :'))) i really, really appreciate it so much!!!!! without further ado, here's another (kinda short & shitty but still a chapter) update of make a wish!!! enjoy <3

San wakes up on the floor.

God knows how he got there, but as he blinks profusely at the ceiling, he feels the soreness creeping into his body. There's a small amount of moonlight filtering in through his curtains – and the fact that it's Monday comes crashing into him and he gets up, trying to stretch the stiffness away.

He's up and ready by the time it's half past six (it's still dark out) – and now he's seated at the dining table, spreading hearty amounts of peanut butter on his toast. His younger brother sits across from him, eyes half-closed as he munches on his cornflakes. His mother is humming a lively tune under her breath, and his father is sipping the last of his coffee as he glances anxiously at the clock.

"Okay, that's it, I've got to go," Mr Choi places the mug down on the table and gets up. He ruffles his sons' hair and gives his wife a quick kiss. "I'd rather not run late. Have a nice day, boys," he says, before heading out.

San spares a look at Yejun, who raises an eyebrow at him. There's an obnoxious slurp as San downs his orange juice – and before anyone could say a word, San's out the door, ignoring Yejun's protests.

Today, San makes it to school in seven minutes and thirteen seconds. That was only nine seconds past his record (seven minutes and four seconds, which he set in Year 10 – to be fair, he overslept that day, and he was _running_ to get to school). He's catching his breath as he walks to class, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.

The first class of the day is Biology. San tries not to doze off as he listens to the teacher talk about aerobic respiration (seriously, when was he ever going to need that information?) and jumps when the bell rings at eight, signalling a change of classes. He has Physics in the class next door – and it's only when their teacher, Lee Minho, walks in with a bundle of papers in his hand that he realizes they're getting their results.

"Oh, shit," Mingi whispers to him, as they get up to greet the teacher. "I'm so fucked."

"Good morning, class!" Minho grins at the class, waving a nonchalant hand at them. The class take their seats, used to this procedure by now (Minho never tells them to sit. He told them this on the first day – "I'm not going to tell you to sit down by now, you're all like. What. Seventeen? Eighteen? And you need my permission to sit on chairs? Nah.").

Minho grins at the class, holding the bundle of papers up. "Here I have your physics papers, but first –" San's breath hitches in his throat – "I would like to let you know I have chocolates for the top scorers, that's all."

"Oh," San breathes out, and that's when he notices Mingi hanging onto him as if his death was looming above his head. _Good thing there, though, I thought he was going to talk about the cockroach we pressed into his record book two weeks ago._

_I definitely didn't do that._

"Choi San," Minho calls, making San's eyes go wide – _me? ALREADY?_ – and he's the first person to get handed his paper.

"Top scorer of the class," Minho states, before San even has a chance to see his grade. The class claps, unsurprised. San may not be as smart when it came to Chemistry and Biology, but he definitely shone through Physics.

"38 out of 40. That's really good. I'm saying it out loud now so that the rest of you don't get your hopes raised," Minho adds, "there's a whole bunch of people who somehow managed to get zeroes, too. Are you telling me that you're in Year 12 and you still don't know that the formula for potential energy is mass into gravity into height?"

The class are handed the papers one by one – out of 26 people, only 10 pass (eight boys, and two girls, all of whom are given bars of Snickers – Mingi sadly doesn't make the cut, but he was expecting it). San has made two stupid mistakes on his paper – but he's happy (at least he got a good grade without actually struggling – he felt like Physics was the only subject where he could use pure logic and bullshit his way through the exams).

The rest of the class is spent discussing the paper – and at 8:35, the next class (Korean Literature) begins. He makes it out alive for his next class, Chemistry – he says bye to Changbin, who'd been complaining to him about his mother throwing out his doughnuts – and heads into his Chemistry class to see Namjoon already there, cleaning the board. 

"Hello, teacher," he smiles.

Namjoon looks around and smiles back. "Hello, San."

It takes around two more minutes for everyone to come into the class. Mingi comes in and takes his seat next to San, his smile pronouncing anything but the 11 he'd received in Physics just two classes ago.

"Okay you nitwits, good morning!" Namjoon calls.

"Good morning, teacher!" The class chimes back.

"Before I begin, did I give you the worksheet on empirical and molecular formulae? I think I gave them out to the –"

"Excuse me."

Namjoon stops talking, head snapping towards the door. Wooyoung stands there, looking at Namjoon through tired, puffy eyes. San perks up immediately. Something's wrong – Wooyoung's _never_ late to class.

"Come in, Wooyoung," Namjoon squints at the boy as he passes by. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," Wooyoung drags out the chair on San's right and sits down. Namjoon resumes his previous question – but San isn't paying attention anymore.

The longer he looks at Wooyoung, the sadder he looks. His face is pale and his eyes are misty and bloodshot, almost like he'd been crying. He's sniffing occasionally – and his hands are shaking so hard San is half tempted to reach out and hold them. Mingi shoots San a questioning look.

 _Donno,_ he mouths.

San can barely focus in class. The minute the bell rings, Wooyoung gets up – but San's ready for him, grabbing him by his elbow and making him turn around.

"Hey." He chuckles. "Not even gonna say hi today?"

"Ah, no, hi," Wooyoung stumbles over his own words, like he'd just realized San was there. The class were already moving out for their break.

San glances at Mingi and tells him to fuck off as politely as he could. When he's sure the rest of the class had moved off in their single file as well, he closes the door, looking at Wooyoung again.

"What happened? Do you want to talk?"

"No." Wooyoung looks away, and San grabs Wooyoung's jaw, forcing him to look at him.

"Tell me."

"San, I . . ." Wooyoung's face crumples, his eyes glistening with tears. His hands instinctively make it to his face, and San stares, dismayed, as Wooyoung quite literally breaks down in front of him.

"Wooyoung!" He exclaims, shocked. "What _happened?_ " He tries to get Wooyoung to look at him, in vain.

"Listen, Wooyoung, I have a younger brother and I've seen him cry over not being able to perfectly balance a light switch in the middle. If you think your reason is stupid and that's why you don't want to tell me –" San inhales – "You're wrong, I've seen quite literally everything a guy could cry over."

Wooyoung falls silent. He's still shaking – out of pure sympathy, San gives him a reluctant back hug, hoping it makes him feel a little better.

"So, tell me." San says once again, letting go. Wooyoung sniffles.

". . . We got our physics papers back today."

"Oh, same." San is kind of confused on what that had to do with Wooyoung's bad mood. He couldn't have done badly, could he?

"I got a 24 out of 40." And Wooyoung nearly cries all over again, causing San to panic and wipe away his tears.

"But that's good! You passed!" _It's not as good as he usually does, but he passed, right?_

"My mother won't think it's good," Wooyoung sobs, sitting down at a desk and burying his head in his hands.

"She'll give me the whole, 'you didn't try hard enough' bullshit, and –" He can't continue. San lets his older-brother instincts take over, and he takes a seat in the chair next to Wooyoung, putting his head on the latter's shoulder and rubbing circles onto his back.

"It'll be fine," he whispers.

"There'll always be next time."  
  
Wooyoung and San stay in the class, huddled up in an attempt to make the atmosphere lighter, until the bell signalling the end of break rings.  
  


**――――― ✧ ―――――**

The minute the last bell rings, San springs out of his seat, giving Mingi a quick hug and rushing out of the class to find Wooyoung. He'd promised to walk home with him – it was the least he could do to make Wooyoung feel a _little_ bit better about himself.

San wonders how Wooyoung handles it. How could he think 24/40 was _bad_? San couldn't imagine ever thinking that a C was a bad grade. (It was all he'd gotten in Year 11.) He realizes that his parents probably just didn't care as much as Wooyoung's did – and now he's confused on whether that's a good or bad thing.

He's snapped out of his thoughts when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to see Wooyoung – looking tired and nervous, but still Wooyoung nonetheless. San grins, offering him his hand. Wooyoung accepts thankfully, appreciating the warmth of San's hand on his own.

"Do you want anything to eat?" San asks, as they make their way out of the school. "A blueberry muffin?"

"No, I'm fine –"

Despite Wooyoung's protests, San drags him into the nearest bakery he could find, and buys Wooyoung a blueberry muffin and a Sprite.

"There, now please smile," San pouts as he watches Wooyoung bite into the muffin. The latter snorts, making San laugh.

"Are you happy now?" San lets out a squeak of relief when Wooyoung nods.

_Of course, Choi San, you simply being here with me right now makes me happy, too, but that's something else._

They set off again as soon as Wooyoung has finished eating his little muffin. As they near his apartment, San feels his hands getting colder – and finally time comes when San realizes he has to go.

"Bye," San pats Wooyoung's shoulder reassuringly. "Good luck."

"Hey," Wooyoung asks, suddenly. "How much did you get?"

"Uh." San scratches the back of his neck, unsure of whether he wants to say it.

"38."  
  
" _Damn_." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. "That's _good._ Now I can't even make the excuse that others did bad on it either."  
  
"I'm sorry," San blinks. "But good luck, again. Text me later?"  
  
"Yeah, sure." Wooyoung's shoulders slump as he sighs, heading in through the double doors to a meeting he knew wouldn't end on good terms.  
  
  
  


**――――― ✧ ―――――**

21:56 **  
sanshine  
**?? how'd it go

21:57  
**woobear  
**haha. . ... .. . . hhahaha

21:57  
**woobear  
**this is the most times i've cried within a day lol

21:57  
**sanshine  
**)):

21:57  
**sanshine  
**its ok bb u worked hard and did ur best )):

21:58  
**woobear  
**try saying that to my mom lmao

21:58  
**woobear  
**she was so upset too hjhdjhjs and ofc she gave me the "see i knew this would happen u stopped TRYING" thing too but she bought me a phys past paper set so uh

21:58  
**woobear  
**love that for me ig

22:03  
**sanshine  
**hey woo

22:03  
**sanshine  
**i could??? help you??? i'm very willing to do that?

22:04  
**woobear  
**?? BRUH ??? ME???? ARE YOU FR

22:04  
**woobear  
**U PHYSICS GOD????? U GOT LIKE A 38????? AND UR GONNA SPEND UR TIME ON SCUM LIKE ME

22:04  
**woobear  
**YOU COULD BE DOINF PAST PAPERS BLINDFOLDED RN?????

22:05   
**sanshine  
**LITERALLY STFU I WOULD LOVE TO HELP YOU OKAY YOUR HAPPINESS IS MY HAPPINESS AND UR SADNESS IS MY SADNESS ))):<

22:06  
**woobear  
**FINE LET ME ASK MY MOM THEN

22:11  
**woobear  
**ok so my mom's chill w it. she's feeling a bit more friendly rn

22:12  
**sanshine  
**NICE

22:13  
**sanshine  
**we begin tomorrow, then!!1!! your place after school?

22:14   
**woobear  
**sounds like a plan :D  
  
  
  


  
**――――― ✧ ―――――**

That night, Wooyoung goes to bed with his curtains open. It's something he does on restless nights when he can't sleep. Seeing the stars outside provided him with a sense of calmness and helped him forget the events of the day. He closes his eyes in a silent wish, clutching his blanket to him tightly.

_Oh, god, the things I would do to make my grades shine brighter than they do right now. I could only wish._

As his eyes close, he feels the stars have dimmed down a little, almost in a response to Wooyoung – to let him know that no matter what, he'd always shine the brightest in the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!!! once again, here's the official playlist for this fic ( [make a wish](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sqSsTsK9cX7Mt2rcaKoFe?si=8fLl1jt_RLKWzxYy1BmvYg) ) !!! leave kudos/comments if u enjoy, it really makes my day :C <3


	5. Milk Packets and School Roofs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I know you're all itching to know who the Pinks are this time, but," Wendy holds up a hand, "may I ask if anyone in this class knows anything about the Devondale milk packet that happens to be on the Yongsan roof?"
> 
> The class grows eerily silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aAAAA THANK YOU FOR 400 HITS!!! and 55 kudos hh i literally :')) can't comprehend this :')) thank u thank u thank u here's another update mwah

San's homeroom class with Miss Irene is already becoming more chaotic as the school year continues.

He remembers at the beginning of the school year when Miss Irene, their homeroom teacher, was late by a couple of minutes – and the class took it as the perfect opportunity to toss around a milk packet someone had brought for breakfast. It had been passed around quite successfully, until it went astray and hit the teacher's desk at a neck-breaking velocity, resulting in a rather white explosion as the milk splattered everywhere.

The class stared around at each other with round eyes before coming to a unanimous decision that Changbin goes to fetch the mop (Mingi's to thank for that) – and by the time he's back, they've locked both the back and front doors of the class. Not much later, an amused Miss Irene shows up, only to see that both the doors to the classroom are under lockdown and Changbin had resorted to running a one-man marching band with a mop over his shoulder. Outside the class. In the corridor.

So when San walks into class the following morning, he isn't surprised to see the boys half of the class swarming around what looks like yet another milk packet. Curious and willing to join, he keeps his bag on his desk, and heads over.

"What's going on?"

"Milk cake," Changbin says over the rest of their voices. San chooses to ignore the fact that probably none of them even knew what that was.

"We're planning to throw it onto the roof of Yongsan," Yeonjun says with a ridiculously straight face, making San snort.

Yongsan International School of Seoul. It was _right_ next door to Danwon High School and were always their biggest competitors in who played their school songs the loudest during mass assemblies. In fact, it was so close to Danwon High School, you could actually see their grounds from some classes in upper floors. San listens intently as the boys layout their gameplan. By the sound of it, San's the one throwing (because he's the handball player, get it?), Changbin's closing the windows upon ending the operation, Minkyung's counting down and a couple of the girls will stand on the watch for teacher Irene.

It's a war. But the boys just want to see the milk splatter onto the roof of Yongsan High. 

"Milk cake." Changbin repeats, cradling the packet in his hand.

"Will it actually bake under the sun?"

"I don't think that's how it works, mate."

Changbin throws the milk packet to San, who catches it. A few girls scramble out of their seats and run to the doors. Minkyung is already positioned next to the window.

Now it was up to San to throw it. Pin-point. Onto the roof of the school next door.

The class watches, silent, as San approaches the window. He takes aim carefully. Squinting, he steps back a little, before he hurtles the milk packet, full power, out of the window.

"BITCH I COULDN'T EVEN COUNT –" Minkyung's angry protests are silenced by Yeonjun's hand on his mouth.

Their gazes follow the blue flying packet as it soars through the air. It lands and flattens upon impact, contents spilling out onto the red roof of the neighbouring school.

"OH LOOK!" Minkyung exclaims loudly, pointing.

"IT ACTUALLY LANDED SPOT ON!"

There's a fair amount of commotion as the class as a whole line up near the window to look at the lifeless blue milk packet lying on the Yongsan roof, in a puddle of its own blood. There's a moment of silence before the class bursts out into applause.

San wonders why he knows these jobless . . . things, but he's not going to complain about being with them anytime soon.

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

The first four classes of the day come and go (they finished the milk cake fiasco before Miss Irene arrived), and before they know it, the very unnecessary but well-utilized ten-minute break has arrived. Mingi stands up almost instantly when the bell rings, but San pulls him down into his seat, much to his dismay.

"The fuck –"

"What's up with you and that Yunho guy?" San raises an eyebrow.

He watches gleefully as Mingi's face flushes bright red, the blood rushing all the way to his ears. He tries to keep down the idiotic slash embarrassed smile tugging at his face (it didn't work).

"Yes?" San teases, poking Mingi's cheek. "Y'all dating?"

" _What_? No, I can only wish – fuck." Mingi slaps a hand over his own mouth. San lets out a screech of delight, making half the heads in the class turn their way.

"Bitch, if you say a _word_ to him –" Mingi tries to glare at him intimidatingly, but it isn't fazing San at all.

" _So you like Yunho, huh,_ " San whispers, the cheek in his voice spilling out through every word. Mingi groans. _I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?_

"Fine, so what if I do?" He hisses back. "Can I go talk to him now?"

"Okay, fine, leave," San shoos Mingi away, laughing. The latter leaves the class, muttering nonsensical words as he goes – and San leans back in his chair, smiling.

The class after break is English. San is excited to get back the project he did with Wooyoung – and he can tell that his partner is too, from the way he almost runs into the class and falls into the seat next to San's.

"Projects," his voice is a high-pitched squeak. "Today."

"I know," San squeals back. Mingi side-eyes them warily – what were they, fangirls?

The normal chatter in the class doesn't subside until Miss Wendy walks into the class, a colourful assortment of papers in her hand. There were around five reds (San feels bad for those five papers already), a few blues, a few purples, and only one pink. San finds himself praying that the pink paper was theirs (thanks to Miss Wendy's eye-catching grading technique, the class has a few silent agreements: if your paper is red, avoid eye contact. Purples can stay silent but the Blues can talk because they're still better than the Purples. The Pinks automatically become gods – and not only just because it's Miss Wendy's favourite colour). They watch anticipatingly as she sets the papers down and looks at the class over the brim of her glasses.

"Well, I know you're all itching to know who the Pinks are this time, but," Wendy holds up a hand, "may I ask if anyone in this class knows anything about the Devondale milk packet that happens to be on the Yongsan roof?"

The class grows eerily silent. Mingi looks at San, who shoots him a death glare.

"Because." Wendy raises an eyebrow. "That's some smart shit right there and I agree with every aspect of that plan. I used to be a teacher-in-practice at that school, and oh my god their students –" She takes in a deep breath and shakes her head.

"You know what? Forget it. Forget all of it. But whoever threw that milk packet has my respect."

Mingi is eyeing San so knowingly it makes him snort into the silence. Automatically everyone turns around to look at him, making him laugh even more.

Wendy furrows her brows at them, but smiles a split second later. " _Anyway,_ " she calls, "let's see who _else_ has earned my respect with these –" she motions to the papers on her desk – "spectacular research papers!" _Was that sarcasm?_

Wooyoung's hand automatically reaches for San's. The latter stares at it for a few seconds until Wooyoung slaps his thigh – "hold my _hand_ you dense-ass ice-cube!" – and they wait in their seats, holding hands as Miss Wendy goes around distributing the papers.

The silent agreement kicks into action the minute Yohan gets handed his red paper. San closes his eyes in a silent prayer for the kid's grades. The class is still considerably quiet – apparently there were more purples than blues this time.

Before he knows it, all the papers have been distributed. He and Wooyoung are the only one paper-less – and the last paper on the list was the pink one.

It sinks into San slower than he'd have expected.

"Woah," he gapes. "Are you being for real?"

Wendy laughs as she hands the two boys their paper. "Congratulations, boys. You had me hooked through the whole thing. Actually," she looks away from the two starstruck boys, "who'd like to hear their research paper?"

The whole class shoots their hands up. If Wooyoung looked happy before, he looks absolutely exhilarated now. The two of them head to the front of the class – and they keep their classmates occupied with their beautifully written research paper on the COVID-19 pandemic from 2020. Wendy watches the two boys proudly as they take turns reading from their paper, and joins in with the class's enthusiastic applause as they wrap it up. On the way to their seats, Wooyoung tackles San in a hug – and San hugs him back, knowing exactly how much this meant to him.

"Oh, and, San." Wendy calls, as they take their seat.

"If it was you who threw the milk packet," she grins, "you're on my list of A-grade students for the year."

The class erupts in mock anger – "That's discrimination against the 2-braincelled-ones! I will _not_ stand this!" – but if you look closely and see the students laughing in a split second of high school they'd never get back – it really didn't matter.

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

"HEY, WOOYOUNG!"

Upon hearing his name being called, he turns around to see San hurtling towards him at full speed, and stops walking to let the boy catch up.

"Hi," he breathes, slinging an arm across Wooyoung's shoulder.

"So you can run 15 rounds around the handball court without breaking a sweat," Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, "but you run from your class to catch up with me and you're out of breath."

"In my defence, I'm carrying a backpack, and I was sprinting because I didn't wanna lose you." San grins, grip tightening on the shoulder straps of his bag.

"Anyway! To celebrate a successful English project, what do you say about a little ice-cream date?"

"Ice-cream?" Wooyoung's eyes light up immediately. "Of course! But uh –"

"Don't worry," San takes his phone out. "I can talk to your mother."

"Not that," Wooyoung feels his face burn. _Oh, goddamn, to have strict parents._ "Can I pay this time?"

"Absolutely not." San looks away from Wooyoung, as they continue to walk down the street. "I bring it up, I pay for it."

"Goddamn, Choi San, I owe you at least a few thousand won already," Wooyoung exclaims.

"What was that?" San asks, cupping a hand to his ear nonchalantly. Wooyoung hits his shoulder, exasperated. He laughs.

They make their stop at a Gelato outlet near San's street. Wooyoung goes for dark chocolate and San takes lemon. They sit down at a table near the doors, which provided a nice view of the thrumming city outside.

"Does it taste good?" San asks, as Wooyoung takes a bite of his ice cream. He nods in response, making San smile in satisfaction. Wooyoung can't help but notice his dimples – _oh they're so cute, I wish I –_

"Can I poke your dimples?" Wooyoung blurts out. San pauses, halfway through putting the spoon into his mouth.

"Huh?" He laughs. "Of course. Go ahead."

San smiles for Wooyoung, and the latter gently brings his finger to one of his dimples – and pokes it gently, his mouth forming a small "o" as he continues the action repeatedly.

"Your skin is soft," Wooyoung admits. "And your dimples are really cute. I couldn't help it."

"No, it's okay." San shoots him one of his most dazzling eye-smiles, and Wooyoung suddenly feels the urge to wear sunglasses – the big fiery ball in the sky clearly had some tough competition here.

They continue to eat their ice cream in silence. 

As they finish up, Wooyoung observes San quietly. It was something he did to everyone he met, quite out of habit. He notices that San puffs his cheeks when he chewed – and his eyes seem to get wider with every bite, as though the great taste of the dessert was hitting him over and over again. Wooyoung also hadn't realized it before but San had beautiful eyes – they seem to swirl with colour and change shades every second – almost honeylike in one, and a soft brown that makes Wooyoung reminisce a cuddly teddy bear in the other. 

And even his name – _San_ was a name that came so easily to him. It was a name everyone in Year 12 knew. It reminds Wooyoung of a small hill, one that could _comfort_ people, almost – and it also reminds Wooyoung of big, sprawling mountains, ones that gobble up the whole land and go on forever and ever, ones that look absolutely grand and untouchable when viewed from afar and up close. San's name suited him so much. It was the little details about him that made him suddenly so much more attractive as a person.

"You okay?" San waves a hand in front of Wooyoung's face. "You zoned out."

"Oh, uh, yeah." Wooyoung looks down and realizes his ice-cream has become dark chocolate sludge. He holds up a hand.

"Let me like, slurp this up. Really quick."

San tries not to laugh as the boy in front of him downs the ice-cream as if it were a soup, only offering him a chocolate-covered smile when he was done.

"Wipe your mouth and let's go. We could stop by the park before we go home."

"Sure."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

They arrive at Hangang Park not much later. It's nearly a quarter past five. They take a stroll through the park before sitting down under one of the trees, setting their heavy backpacks down and enjoying the nature around them.

To San, Hangang Park – no matter how old it was – was like a second home. He normally came here during exam weeks, mostly after cramming (or not, you really can't tell with him) for some dumb test. His favourite time to come here is when it nears sundown – he finds something so sentimental in watching the sunset, almost like saying goodbye to yet another day of his life passed by. Another day that would be filed away in the memories of his 17 years of existence. It was something that made him yearn for the next day. New hopes, new targets, new day.

"Relaxing, if I say so myself," Wooyoung says, leaning against the tree with his eyes closed. There's a slight breeze rustling by and it makes San shiver, but he enjoys being with Wooyoung. It makes his heart feel warm.

"Yeah," San agrees. "Do you not do this often?"

"Well, not really." Wooyoung shakes his head. "I'm mostly cooped up at home. Studying or something. I don't really do much."

"The way you prioritize your studies makes me feel lame," San blinks, looking into the distance. Wooyoung gasps.

"No! What do you mean? You literally did so well in Physics!"

"It's a logical thinking paper."

"You passed Chemistry too." Though this time Wooyoung doesn't sound as confident. San giggles.

"Yeah, I _passed._ You got full marks." San sighs. "Why? Why do you . . . you know. Try so hard?"

San realizes how insensitive it sounds the minute the words are out of his mouth. "Oh shit, I'm sorry uh – that was probably really bitchy of me –"

"No." Wooyoung takes in a deep breath. "It's. You know. Family issues and stuff."

"You seem to have a really nice family though," San pipes in, again realizing he should probably shut the fuck up.

Wooyoung lets out a small laugh. "It's not _family_ problems exactly . . . more like financial. You know."

San thinks for a while. He lets it sink in. _Graduation . . . financial problems . . . exams . . ._

"Oh." He whispers, the idea dawning onto him.

"They want you to work for a scholarship."

"Yeah." Wooyoung sighs.

San isn't sure of what to say. _I'm sorry?_ No, what the fuck? _You can do it!_ Nah, too carefree.

He settles on a, "I'll be there with you through it, okay?"

Wooyoung looks at San, eyes glossy. "What?"

"I mean it." San nods. "I've already said I'll help you with Physics. I can help you with more. As much as my intellect allows it," he adds, making Wooyoung snort.

"You know, ever since I was a child, my prime goal was being the Best All-Rounder of our year." Wooyoung says. "The valedictorian, if you might."

"You have huge dreams."

"So I've been told." Wooyoung fiddles with his fingers, the nervous energy getting to him. Somehow San feels like he's the first person hearing these thoughts from him.

"Every time I watch the graduation ceremonies on TV. When I hear the top student speak. Their speeches, their results. Somehow I want that even more than I," Wooyoung breathes, "you know. Want the scholarship."

"Both are something you want, though, right?"

"Yeah, of course. But you see . . . this is the first and last time our hard work is being acknowledged by the school. Look at Yongsan, for example." Wooyoung spits out the name like a bad toffee and San laughs.

"Their students have prize-giving ceremonies every _year_ to acknowledge the students who did well. Subject prizes. Progress prizes. Awards. Certificates. Trophies. Imagine leaving high school with so many tokens of your hard work." Wooyoung looks at San.

"What do we have?"

San knows Wooyoung's right. Their graduation ceremony was the only time the school would be acknowledging any aspect of the students' work. Before that, no matter how many perfect 100's you got in your finals or unit tests, you had to keep it to yourself.

You got nothing but that paper that _tells_ you that you got a 100. Or a 45. Or an 80. Whatever you got.

"I just want my work to be acknowledged," Wooyoung admits. "I'm working so hard and I know I'd have gotten so much more if I were in Yongsan. I'd have gone there if I could, but." He swallows thickly. "My parents can't afford it. So I'm stuck in Danwon."

Wooyoung says _stuck_ like he doesn't enjoy it much at their school. If San really thinks about it, Wooyoung used to be alone all the time until that one fateful morning when San had walked into the class to see him down a concoction of Monster energy drink and coffee. He feels a pang of guilt – he should have approached the boy earlier.

"Hey, it won't be that bad," San promises. "I know you can do it. If anyone can do it, it's you. I know it."

"Thanks." Wooyoung smiles, and San thinks he sees tears in his eyes.

"You're such an inspiration." San says, voice genuine. Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow questioningly.

"I mean. I'm just barely getting through school and you're. Blundering through all the exams, assignments, projects. Passing with flying colours. And sometimes you even think that's not enough." San crosses his arms across his chest.

"And not only that, you're aiming for the most prestigious title in the school, and a full scholarship to college to relieve it off your family. You're looking for recognition. And I think that's beautiful and really, really inspiring," San sighs. "You make me rethink my point of staying in school, I'm not even gonna lie."

"I could help you too, you know." Wooyoung smiles. "It's only fair."

"For real?" San can't believe his ears. "I don't deserve that."

"No. I'll help you. I promise." Wooyoung stares at him defiantly.

"It's a deal, then." San offers Wooyoung his hand. They shake on it.

"Thanks for listening," Wooyoung adds, voice so soft San barely caught it. The latter laughs.

"Of course not. From now on, you and I. We're getting through this hellhole together."

"You're the most understanding person I've met, next to Haeun." Wooyoung chuckles. "Thanks for not thinking I'm an ungrateful child."

"NO, what the fuck?" San exclaims. "You're literally anything but ungrateful. I know some people who'd never shut the fuck up if they had the brains you did."

Wooyoung throws his arms around San suddenly, grip tightening as he buries his head in the latter's neck. San hugs him back, surprised.

"Thanks, I mean it," Wooyoung whispers. "We can do this. Together."

"Yes. Yes, we can." San holds him closer as well, tears brimming his eyes almost despite himself.

He's glad that he can be a true friend to Wooyoung. If anyone needed one, it was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! leave a comment/kudos if u enjoyed :DD here's the official playlist for this fic ( [make a wish](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sqSsTsK9cX7Mt2rcaKoFe?si=8fLl1jt_RLKWzxYy1BmvYg) ) !!! love you all <3


	6. Train To Busan (...Literally)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San sits up immediately, eyes wide as he grabs his phone.
> 
> The time reads 6:46 AM. There's a total of twenty-seven missed calls – 19 from Hoseok, 5 from Wooyoung and 3 from an unknown number.
> 
> That's when San realizes he's truly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEE thank u for nearly 600 hits :')) <3 and 70 kudos!!!!! we're thirty away from hitting 100, i can't :(( <3 thank you for all the love. here's chapter 6!!

San's favourite week of January is coming.

Every year, before Spring, the Danwon High management lets the handball teams - one by one - make their trips to Busan for their beach training. In 2116, the younger teams had gone first – so this year, they'd be starting from the seniors, and that meant that the Under-19 team would go first.

As practice is wrapped up for the day, the team seems to be buzzing with excitement. (Kind of funny, considering how at this point of the day they'd normally be scattered across the court like corpses.) San catches Wooyoung's eyes and shoots him a wide grin.

"You can come over," he calls. Wooyoung sets his bag down and in a minute he's at San's side.

San wants Wooyoung to try out for the team manager position. It was always before the trip that the team chose their managers – the people that would generally look over the team activities, resources and overall wellbeing throughout the week and sometimes through the actual tournaments themselves. If Wooyoung gets the spot of team manager, then he'd be able to take the week off with the team. To San, it looks like a golden opportunity for the boy to catch his breath, and he wants to earn Wooyoung this position. Somehow.

"Okay, you rowdy idiots," Hoseok claps his hands, grabbing the team's attention in an instant.

"The Busan trip is on Monday, day after tomorrow, and you guys are first!"

The team give an ear-piercing yell in reply.

"But before that, I'm here to give you your kit-lists –" Hoseok specifically looks at San as he says this (looks like someone still hasn't gotten over the time San forgot his knee guards) "- and to announce some possible candidates for your managers' position."

San smirks. Wooyoung had no idea that he'd turned his name in.

"Seungmin, if you can go to the bench and get the kit-lists. I'll read out the managers," Hoseok turns to face the team as Seungmin jogs off to the bench.

"We have: Kim Jiwoo, Kang Yeosang –" There's an audible gasp from Wooyoung – "Kim Yerim, Park Minhyuk, Jung Wooyoung –" Wooyoung's eyes widen as he looks at San – "Son Sangjoon, Chou Tzuyu." Hoseok looks above the paper at the anticipating faces of his team. He sees Wooyoung, looks back at the paper, and announces: "One of the candidates seem to be here right now."

All 13 heads turn to look at Wooyoung, who waves awkwardly. San grins.

"Vote for him," he mouths. Sly grins appear on some of the players' faces. _Anyone San trusted would be good for the team._

"We'll take vote now," Hoseok says, as Seungmin returns with a file of papers. "I'll leave the camera running so we have proof of fair vote. Remember – your first round of voting decides our head managers, and the second round decides the vices."

A few heads bob in agreement.

"Okay. Kim Jiwoo?"

A vast majority of the hands shoot up, including San's. He knows Jiwoo from his Maths class – the girl had some serious analytical and social skills. If anyone could look after a team, it would be her.

". . . and that's an eleven, holy shit," Hoseok laughs. "Looks like we have our first head manager." He slashes Jiwoo's name off his list. She was no longer in for the second round.

"Kim Yerim."

No votes.

"Park Minhyuk."

Everyone's hands stay down. There's an uneasy silence settling across the team now. San nibbles on his lower lip. He feels Wooyoung tense next to him as Hoseok reads his name aloud –

"Jung Wooyoung."

All 14 hands shoot up into the air. _There's their second head manager._

Hoseok shoots Wooyoung a proud smile. Wooyoung stands there, dazed, as the team claps and laughs. He looks at San, mouth agape.

"Did you do this?" He asks. San laughs, nodding and opening his arms for a hug. The two of them seem to forget how sweaty San currently is as they embrace, Wooyoung muttering words of disbelief and thanks into San's shoulder.

Voting soon comes to a close (Yerim and Yeosang got chosen as their assistant managers). The team leave after collecting their kit-lists, adrenaline already pumping through their veins as thoughts of the trip on Monday fill in every void of their minds.

"Congrats, Wooyoung-ssi!" San exclaims. They're the last people standing in the field and his voice is loud and echoey, making Wooyoung slap his shoulder in embarrassment.

"Shut up, I don't deserve you," he mumbles, fingers fiddling with the kit-list in his hands.

"You want anything? A drink? Ice-cream? Because I'd love something cold right now," San continues blabbering, as they head out of the stadium.

Wooyoung stays silent.

"You know you'd like some good, icy Sprite," San teases. "Or Coke. Whatever you're into."

"That sounds . . . _really_ wrong."

"You know what I mean." San looks ahead onto the street, ignoring the red colour creeping onto his cheeks.

"So? What do you say?" He asks again, after a while.

"I'm fine with a Coke but I'll pay for it."

"No you won't." San glares at him childishly, making all arguments stored in Wooyoung's brain jump out the window.

They stop by a nearby shop and get their drinks – a Coke for Wooyoung and a 100 Plus for San – and continue to walk in silence, working their way down their bottles as they strolled.

"Who'd you room with?" San asks suddenly. Wooyoung furrows his brows.

"Yeosang's going too."

"Oh. Yeah." Shoot, he'd forgotten. _Yeosang's his best friend._ He tries to hide the obvious disappointment in his voice.

"But you know, he's all for me going out and socializing with new people . . ." Wooyoung ponders for a moment.

"I think he'll make me room with you," he decides. "I'm sure of it. We've had our fair share of sleepovers through the years."

San feels a little queasy. _Aw, he really just decided to room with me when he could've chosen his best friend._

"Th – Thanks." He manages, before taking another swig of 100 Plus.

"No, thank _you,_ San. Seriously. For everything." Wooyoung sighs.

"Because of you, I'm trying so many things I never thought I would."

"By the looks of it, even Yeosang couldn't have convinced you to do this?" San asks – and even as he says it, he knows he's right.

"Nope. I'd never have given it a second thought."

"But you want to work for Best All-Rounder, right?" San puts the cap back on his bottle, shoving it into his backpack.

"This'll help. Earn you more points along the way."

"You're right."

"Wouldn't wanna leave school with a leaving certificate that only states full hundreds from all subjects. You'd want something else on there, too."

"Okay, you've got a point." Wooyoung surrenders, and San throws his head back in a laugh before patting his back.

"You've got this in the bag, buddy."

"Yeah . . . I hope so."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

San wakes up on Monday morning to a monstrous Yejun quite literally screaming his ears off.

"HYUNG! YOUR TRAIN IS IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!"

San murmurs something that sounds like, "Yejun, if you don't get the fuck out of my room right now –" but is silenced by a desperate screech of, "CHOI SAN!"

That's enough to wake the sleeping lump on the bed. "DO _NOT_ TALK DOWN TO ME, YOUNG MAN!"

" _I SAID YOUR TRAIN IS IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!_ "

San sits up immediately, eyes wide as he grabs his phone.

The time reads 6:46 AM. There's a total of twenty-seven missed calls – 19 from Hoseok, 5 from Wooyoung and 3 from an unknown number.

That's when San realizes he's truly fucked.

" _OH MY GOD MY TRAIN IS IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!_ "

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

"Where the hell is Choi San?" Hoseok is panicking now. Wooyoung stands next to him, hopping on the balls of his feet, feeling sweat trickle down his spine every now and then.

The rest of the team were already in their seats on the train. The time was 7:12 AM. Departure was being held off because _their team captain still hasn't arrived._

(They're only lucky that the next train wouldn't arrive for a good hour or so.)

"You know what, let's just call it a day and get on," Hoseok grumbles, shouldering his backpack and motioning for Wooyoung to follow him.

"He can catch the next train – wait."

They stop. Wooyoung's seen him too. Ignoring the yells of the porters near the coaches, they stare, agape, as Choi San sprints through the terminal exit and onto the platform _–_ luggage rattling behind him and backpack bouncing on his back as he ran.

" _There he is,_ " Hoseok marvels. San finally catches up to them, huffing and puffing, cheeks and nose red from exhaustion.

"I'm _so sorry –"_

"Look who decides to show up!" Wooyoung exclaims. "You're still a little bit early, you know."

Hoseok snorts.

San bows to his coach, and even to Wooyoung, who resists the urge to laugh. "I'm _so sorry._ I overslept, didn't hear my alarm go off –"

Wooyoung realizes San is still in his BlackPink hoodie (there he is with the 21st-century sentiments again) and a pair of jogging pants, his hair pasted down with a fair amount of cream. _So he really did wake up a minute ago._

"Yes, enough of the apologies," Wooyoung chides, "get on the train, we've managed to convince these people to hold off departure till you come and I don't think they'll wait much longer."

The train begins moving off as Wooyoung steps onto the coach car. Eyes widening with panic, he reaches out to San, who – with Hoseok in tug – grabs his hand and leaps onto the train just as it starts picking up speed. Relieved, they take their seats at the back of the coach, storing their luggage in the overhead compartment. One overall look at the crowd and all you'd have seen were the sleeping faces of the Danwon High handball players. (Well, a majority of them were dead asleep, anyway. Except for Jongho. He was reading a book.)

Once Hoseok's in his seat, he's out cold, as well. Wooyoung and San take one look at him – oh, he'll need all the rest he can get. He was in charge of a team of 14 players _and_ four other managers who were there to assist him.

God forbid anything goes wrong.

"San, you should have been more responsible," Wooyoung scolds, when he's sure Hoseok's asleep. San pulls his hood over his head, already sleepy.

"You're the team's captain. You made Hoseokie-hyung super stressed." He pouts angrily. "I won't tolerate tardiness as long as you're my roommate," he concludes. Then he smiles warmly.

"You can sleep now. Do you have a travel pillow?"

San shakes his head no. Wooyoung pats his shoulder.

"Put your head here."

San puts his head on Wooyoung's shoulder, eyes already laden with sleepiness. Before Wooyoung can say anything else, the boy has fallen asleep, and Wooyoung resists the urge to boop his reddened nose.

"How cute."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

They reach Busan at around 9:30, and the Danwon team are some of the last people off the coach. The bus is waiting for them outside the station, and within a few minutes of driving and exclamations from the eighteen (nineteen, including the suddenly very teen-like Hoseok) people on the bus, they've reached their accommodation.

The place they're staying at is called Flora Inn and is on the beach, overlooking the Busan coastline. It was the place they booked every time they came for training here, and was readily equipped with anything fourteen handball players might need. Roommates were decided before they got off the bus (yes, Wooyoung and San were allowed to room together) and players got off the bus to see the owner, Min Yoongi, standing near the doorstep.

"HI HYUNG!" San squeals, luggage forgotten and sleepiness disappearing as excitement filled his very being at the sight of the familiar man. Yoongi breaks out in a smile.

"Hi, Sani," Yoongi calls.

Hoseok runs over and gives him a hug. The players lug their luggage out of the compartment, San turning around and thanking the driver before the bus rumbles off.

"It's so nice to see all of you again," Yoongi grins. "I see some new faces. Come on in. Your rooms are ready on the ground and first floor."

Before the situation gets too messy with who calls dibs on what floor, San brings the team to silence.

"Okay, we'll sort out who gets which rooms on which floor . . . by playing rock paper scissors," he decides.

"Winners get the first floor and losers get the ground. One person from each pair can step forward and join the game," he pauses and looks around at Hoseok, who's talking to Yoongi, "including you, Coach."

The game begins, and in not much time (and thankfully with no petty tears shed) they've decided the respective floors for each pair. San and Wooyoung end up with the last room on the first floor, right next to Hoseok's, and Wooyoung finds some solidarity in the fact that Yeosang (with his roomie Jongho) is also on the same floor as them.

There's some commotion as the team shuffle into their rooms, dragging luggage up the stairs along with their backpacks. There's a late breakfast being offered for them at 10:15, and they have the morning off until training at 2 that afternoon.

"Get some rest until 10:15," Hoseok calls down the floor, "pass the message. The notice board is in the lobby. Unpunctual players will be punished hereafter."

San swallows thickly before closing the door to their room. "Got it."

Wooyoung is already sprawled out on the bed on the left, seemingly beat but his bright smile saying otherwise.

"This is so exciting," he beams. "I haven't been on a trip like this in a while."

"Just thought you needed a break." San turns the air conditioning on, inhaling the first gusts of air the machine blew at his face.

Their room is rather simple, but San loves it nevertheless. Its whitewashed walls with photographs of beautiful landscapes above the beds made it feel like some minimalistic aesthetic from a Pinterest page. The window was on San's side of the room, the curtains open, showcasing a breathtaking view of the glistening blue ocean and the sounds of the gentle waves lapping against the shore. 

There's also a digital clock on Wooyoung's side of the room (important, they're on a tight schedule here) and a mini-fridge – San doesn't need to check to know that it's already stored with cold water bottles and ice packs. There's a small cupboard enough to fit clothes for one person (they can manage, somehow) and a phone on the bedside table next to San's bed. For emergencies (and not for prank calls, they'd learnt that the hard way).

"Turn on some music, or unpack?" San asks, flopping onto his bed and pancaking himself against the mattress.

"There's no need to unpack, the fuck?" Wooyoung scoffs. "We can just leave our luggage near the cupboard, open it if we need anything." He rethinks his statement.

"On the other hand, you know what, this isn't a vacation trip." They both laugh. Wooyoung hops off his bed, peeling off his socks and unzipping his backpack.

"Let's get unpacking."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

The day flows by like San's favourite summer songs, and before he knows it, they're done with dinner and are sent to their rooms to get ready for bed (or do whatever they wanted).

Thanks to the fact that this was just the first day of the trip, the training regimen wasn't as strict or tough, and they were given the evening off after dinner. Some people went to look around Busan while others lazed around in their rooms or on the beach under the stars – Wooyoung and San included – just lying there on the slightly warm sand, letting the spring breeze comb through their locks and immersing themselves in a sense of peace they often had to struggle for.

(Especially people like Wooyoung.)

It's almost a half-past ten when they decide to get up and go back to their room, take a shower and go to bed. San checks the updated notice-board before they go upstairs – breakfast at 7, training at 9 until 11, lunch at 12:30, training at 2:30 till 5, dinner at 5:30, and the evening off yet again.

"I'll go shower first?" Wooyoung suggests, now back in their room. San nods, sitting on the floor with his back against his bed.

San loses track of time as he goes on Youtube, and only notices how late it is when the door to the bathroom finally opens and Wooyoung steps out, wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of shorts, blonde hair damp and smelling fresh and minty.

"Wooyoung," San looks at the clock, at Wooyoung, and back at the clock.

It's 11:24.

"You were in there for forty-five minutes, the fuck?"

Wooyoung holds up a hand. "I'm sorry. I like long showers . . ." he trails off.

"And the water was warm," he adds quietly. "I don't get that at home."

_Oh, poor boy, does he not have a heater at home?_ San pouts, thinking to himself. He couldn't imagine having to take cold showers every single day. Especially in the winter.

"I'll go shower then," San gets up, as Wooyoung begins putting away his things. "I won't take as long."

Wooyoung laughs.

San's right – he's out of the bathroom by 11:35, and Wooyoung's already in bed under his duvet, the AC on, curtains drawn. Seeing him makes San sleepy and long for a proper bed to make up for the sleep he lost the night before (never again).

He puts away his things and turns the lights off, waddling over to his bed. He wraps up in his duvet as well and opens Youtube, resuming the video he was watching before.

The clock ticks on. 12 AM. 1 AM. The two of them were still up.

(Whatever happened to San feeling sleepy?)

"Sani."

San pauses his Youtube video, turning around to see Wooyoung looking at him from the bed across.

"Yeah?"

"I'm bored." He pushes his phone under the pillow. San follows suit, without really meaning to, and lays his head on the pillow.

"It's 1:10," San yawns, the fatigue catching up to him now that his eyes aren't glued to a screen. "Sleep?"

"No . . . I'm not sleepy," Wooyoung's eyes are wide open. San blinks. _He's probably used to being nocturnal from all the times he must've stayed up to study._

"Yeosang used to tell me scary stories when he came over for sleepovers," he says, suddenly. His grip around his blanket tightens.

"Do you have an –"

There's a loud laugh from down the hallway.

"Yeonjun," the two of them say in unison. 

Yeonjun sure has a hard time stopping his laughter.

"Do you have any scary stories?" Wooyoung asks, after the noise dies down.

"Um, well." San tries to think. _When was the last time I heard a horror story?_

Finally, he gives up, opening his phone. He opens Chrome and types away, as if looking for something. Wooyoung squints, suspicious.

"Okay, got it." San grins. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Wooyoung nods.

"Once upon a time," San begins.

"There was a boy. And this was what happened to him." San turns his phone around so Wooyoung can see it. He's greeted by a:

_**DANWON HIGH SCHOOL  
** _ _YEAR-11, STUDENT ID 18352_

_OVERALL PERFORMANCE OF THE YEAR:_

Followed by a string of letters that if, ever seen on Wooyoung's report card, would make him pass out.

"Choi San," Wooyoung wails, as San snickers in satisfaction.

"Once upon a time, Choi San got nothing but C's and D's," San carries on, trying to contain his laughter. "Scary, huh?"

He's silenced by a pillow that hits him square on his face. His phone falls to the floor, almost instantly cueing another loud round of laughter from down the hallway.

"Jesus, they're still up," San leans over and picks his phone up.

Suddenly he gets an idea.

"One sec, Wooyoung," he opens the door to their room, ignoring Wooyoung's confused gaze.

"I'll smuggle Yeonjun and whoever he's with in here. Then we can share scary stories together."

With that, San silently jogs down the hallway (barefoot, so he's making minimal noise) and reaches the door he remembers to be Yeonjun's room. He pulls the handle down slightly.

Now they'd know someone was asking for permission to come in.

The door opens with a soft click, and Yeonjun looks out at him, smile vaporizing immediately when he sees his captain's face staring back at him.

"Woah, Cap," Yeonjun stammers, realizing he was probably being too loud. "I'm sorry –"

"Not that." San holds up a hand, grinning. "Come to my room. But before that, I have a plan . . ."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

Wooyoung's beginning to wonder where they are.

San's been gone for nearly six minutes now. Surely it doesn't take that long to bring two other people from another room into theirs for storytelling purposes?

(No, Wooyoung sweetie, Hoseok's room is right next to yours. But ignore that fact for now.)

Wooyoung stretches his legs out, yawning. He considers calling it a day (day? Night? Morning? He doesn't know anymore) and going to sleep, when the door creaks open, and San walks in with Yeonjun.

"Hi," he whispers excitedly. Yeonjun sits down next to Wooyoung, leaning against the wall.

"Wait." Wooyoung looks at Yeonjun. "Where's your roommate?"

"Who, Soobin?" Yeonjun snorts. "He's out cold. I left him in the room."

"So. Storytime." San opens his arms dramatically. "You ready? If you get scared, you have to do what I tell you tomorrow."

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

San settles down in his bed, fluffing up his pillows and opening the curtains (only to close them again). Wooyoung feels itchy just watching him – _could he start already? The apprehension's gonna kill me._

After what feels like a decade, San turns the flashlight on his phone on, holding it below his face to give the creepy effect they always did in campfires (and literally every other scary storytelling).

"This one's really scary," he began. "Don't be scared. People have passed out because of this." He pauses.

"You sure you can handle it?"

"Fuck you. Just start." Wooyoung ignores his steadily rising heartbeat as San takes a deep breath. _Oh, god, I shouldn't have proposed this idea._

"Once . . . upon a time . . . there was a woman, from Mexico, called Maria.

She was . . . kind of poor, but she was well known in her village for her grace and beauty. One day," San looks around the room to make sure they're paying attention. He locks eyes with Yeonjun, who nods from where he is at the foot of Wooyoung's bed.

"One day, a wealthy nobleman was passing through the village, and stopped in his tracks when he saw Maria. He thought she was beautiful and that he'd never seen anyone like her. Falling for the man's charms, eventually the two of them got married." San inhales.

"She had two sons with him. But since this man was always travelling, he rarely spent time with the family. When he came home, he only ever paid attention to their sons, and never to her.

Maria was able to tell he was falling out of love with her because she was too old.

Then one day," San pauses, for dramatic effect.

"He comes back to the village with a younger woman, and bid farewell to his two sons."

"He completely ignored Maria?" Wooyoung gapes. San nods solemnly.

"Out of anger and hurt, she took her two sons to a river, and mercilessly drowned them." San looks at Wooyoung, who visibly shivers.

"When the man came to the village days later, he asked about the children, and she had to say she drowned them. She was a weeping mess. He was furious and said she couldn't be with him unless she found the two kids.

Now she spends all eternity looking for her children, because the Heavens wouldn't let her in without her children." San stops.

"She's mostly seen near the riversides, and kidnaps the children she sees because she mistakes them as her own. Then she drowns them, too. She wails, and cries, really loudly, earning her the name _La Llorona._ It quite literally means The Weeping Woman in Spanish.

People believe that if you hear her wails you're destined bad luck and misfortune for the rest of your life. She normally calls things along the lines of, _'¡Ay, mis hijos!'_ which means, ' _Oh, my sons!_ ' or, sometimes, _'¿Dónde están mis hijos?'_ which means, ' _Where are my sons_?'" San glances over at Yeonjun again, very discreetly.

"It's said that if you hear her wails from nearby, she's actually really far and if she sounds distant, she's probably like, right behind you."

A chill settles over the room. Wooyoung shudders again. San turns the flashlight off, dousing the room in a darkness Wooyoung did _not_ like at all.

Then he hears it.

" _'Dónde están mis hijos?'_ "

Wooyoung freezes. _What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?_

"' _Ay, dónde están mis hijos?_ '"

Wooyoung feels a lump rising in his throat.

"San," he whispers into the darkness.

"San. Are you hearing that?"

"' _'¡Ay, mis hijos!'"_

Wooyoung feels like crying out. It's like someone has dumped a bucket of icy cold water on him and now he's frozen to the spot, listening to a distant, high-pitched voice calling out the same things San had just told him.

It was near.

It couldn't be a coincidence. Wooyoung wanted to delete himself.

" _'¡Ay, mis hijos!'"_ There it is again. Wooyoung feels a tear trickle down his cheek. _WHY DID I DO THIS TO MYSELF?_

"San, Yeonjun," he whimpers.

And then he screams.

(Just one vulgar word.)

The noise leaves his throat without meaning to as he feels a pair of cold hands grab his foot and _pull,_ yanking his leg so hard that he's dragged across the mattress and onto the floor. He scrambles up, silent tears streaming down his face, knowing this was it. This was the end.

Then the lights come on. The door opens, and Yeonjun's so-called sleeping roommate Soobin walks in, laughing.

Wooyoung blinks, wiping at his eyes as he tries comprehending what just happened. He sees San on his bed, doubled over and clutching his sides, and then sees Yeonjun's figure lying on his own bed, trembling from laughter.

"That wasn't funny!" Wooyoung sobs, getting up. "I – I actually thought –" he feels more tears running down his cheeks and he hides his face in retaliation.

San, dismayed at the outcome, walks over to Wooyoung and wraps his arms around him. _Oh, god, I didn't think he'd take it this hard._

"I'm sorry, oh my god," San squeaks. "I didn't think you'd be this scared, I –"

"No, it's okay, it's my fault. I asked for this." Wooyoung sniffs, appreciating the reality of San's arms around him. It feels comforting after – you know – nearly having himself kidnapped and drowned in some river.

"But now you have to do what I tell you to do," San lets go, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

"That's _cheating,_ " Wooyoung whines.

"No, it's not. I didn't say you had to get scared by the _story_. . . you just had to get scared," he laughs, hugging Wooyoung one more time. "I'm sorry, You can go to sleep now. Same to both of you," he tells Yeonjun and Soobin, who leave the room, still giggling.

"I doubt I'll be able to sleep now." Wooyoung shuts the lights off again, crawling back into his bed and under the covers.

A moment of silence. Then, "Soobin's Spanish is so good, though."

"Yeah, he studies it online." San pulls the duvet over his head as well. "That story's one of my favourite ones from long ago."

"Thanks for sharing it, I guess."

It's not long before San falls asleep, and so does Wooyoung, his mind still swimming with thoughts of the drowned children and the voice wailing from outside their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello loves!! thank you for reading! if you liked it, please leave a comment or kudos, both means a lot to me :(( <3 here's the official playlist for this fic!!! ( [make a wish](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sqSsTsK9cX7Mt2rcaKoFe?si=8fLl1jt_RLKWzxYy1BmvYg) ) ily all!!


	7. Blue-ming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry," he whispers. "It's my fault. We could have waited."
> 
> "No, I agreed to it." Wooyoung squints at San, who was still looking at the team, eyes glassed over.
> 
> "Hey," he exclaims. "Are you crying?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAA thank you for 80 kudos!!!!! and 800 hits too omg :((( i love you all so much. here's chapter 7!!

San wakes up to a cold glass of water being dumped on his face.

He sits up, spluttering, eyes focusing on the figure of Wooyoung – doubled over in laughter, arms clutching his sides.

"That's for last night," Wooyoung says, voice high pitched and rather similar to Yejun's tantrum tone. It makes San want to shove a fistful of sand into his mouth.

"And giving me nightmares about a lady in a gown taking me to a river and drowning me."

"You're welcome," San grumbles, throwing his duvet off. Wooyoung snickers as San lumbers into the bathroom, dripping wet hair plastered onto his forehead.

The two of them make it out of their room at 6:45. Most of the rooms were already vacant, and they hurry down to the beach, where a majority of the team were already assembled, waiting for the food to arrive.

"Ah, here he is," Hoseok calls, as he sees the two of them approach. "Wooyoung, go join the rest of the managers, I'll brief you before breakfast. San, join the rest of the team," he shoos the two boys off towards the rest of the group. Wooyoung runs over to Yeosang, nearly throwing the latter down onto the sand as he gives him a bear hug. San watches, smiling.

Breakfast for the day consists of waffles (with maple/chocolate syrup, whichever they liked), grilled cheese sandwiches, kimchi fried rice, and cartons of chocolate milk. They're done in around half an hour, and return to their rooms, to get some rest before training at 9.

The morning flies past at an incredible speed – and before San realizes, first training for the day is over and they're sent back to their rooms to shower and get dressed for lunch. Wooyoung lets San shower first, since he was the sweaty mess and not him – and while he waits for San he turns some music on from San's speaker, letting the beats take control of his mind.

He's still mindlessly bopping and singing when the door to the bathroom opens and San walks out, towel around his waist, upper body bare and wet. Wooyoung stops singing – and to his utter astonishment, finds himself staring.

_Oh, wow, his abs._

He gulps. _San's – really, really well built._

"Y-you have a nice body," he squeaks out at last. San laughs, his cheeks dusted with pink.

"Do you want to shower, or are you gonna wait for the afternoon training to finish?"

". . . Yeah, that seems fine."

There's a moment of silence as San busies himself with getting ready. He pulls on a simple turquoise t-shirt and a pair of combat shorts – _why is he dressing like it's summer?_ – and then he pulls on a zip-up hoodie. _Okay. That explains it. But the shorts?_

San falls back into his bed, after spraying himself with a small bottle. Wooyoung sniffs, and catches a light whiff of San's cologne – sweet and vanilla scented.

Cute.

Wooyoung feels himself dozing off, almost (fuck San and his friends) but is snapped back to reality by the sound of San asking him a question.

"Is this Pandora?"

Wooyoung lifts his head to look at San. "Yeah . . . why?"

"Just recognized their song. _Moonlight,_ isn't it?"

Grinning, Wooyoung nods. "Yeah. You stan them?"

"Mmm . . . I don't know them very well, but I do know the members." San thinks for a while, then looks at Wooyoung again. "Inyoung's singing is really nice."

"Ah, yeah." Wooyoung agrees. "My bias is Sarah, though. Her dancing is really good."

San hums in reply.

Wooyoung feels his eyes closing as the two of them fall silent again. _Maybe I can actually get some rest before –_

"RIGHT!" San's yell snaps Wooyoung awake again. _Oh, fuck you, San._

He groans, looking at the boy across from him. "Yeah?"

"You're gonna do what I tell you, right?" San muses, an evil grin tugging at his lips. Wooyoung sighs, letting his head fall onto his pillow again.

"What is it?"

"Let's dye your hair." Wooyoung's eyes widen. " _Dark blue._ " He feels as if his heart has stopped beating.

"Wh – _what_?" He stutters, sitting up. " _Dye my hair_?"

_MY MOM'S GONNA FUCKING KILL ME?_

"Yeah!" San nods enthusiastically. If he sees the look of terror on Wooyoung's face, he doesn't show it. "I think dark blue would look really good on you!"

Wooyoung groans. He knows no amount of coaxing would get San to change his mind. _Besides, you only live once._

_Mom, I'm sorry in advance._ "Fine. When do we go?"

San's eyes sparkle mischievously as he glances at the clock. It's 12:04.

"How about . . . now?"

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

After telling Hoseok that they'd be getting lunch out, Wooyoung and San left the inn, getting an Uber to some hair salon somewhere across Busan. The whole drive is awkward and silent, but San's playful demeanour comes into action the second their taxi stops in front of the location.

Wooyoung pays for the drive. He wouldn't hear of San paying for something as simple as an Uber (and San let it go just this once) and he follows San into the building right after, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Hello," San greets the receptionist with a wide grin. _God, he's so outgoing, how does he do that?_

"We made a reservation a few minutes ago. A hair dye job?"

"Ah, Mr Jung Wooyoung, correct?"

"That'll be him."

"Please go upstairs. A staff member will meet you there."

The salon doesn't seem overly fancy but it also doesn't look dirt cheap. Wooyoung side-eyes San as they head up the marble stairs to the first floor, where a girl with short hair and a bright smile welcomes them.

"Hi! I'm Choi Yoojung!" She introduces herself.

"I'm a Choi too," San says, beaming, and they high five.

"You're here for the dye job, correct?" She asks.

"Yeah, that's him, not me," San pushes Wooyoung forward. "Navy blue it is!" He calls, as the girl leads Wooyoung to the washbasin.

Wooyoung shoots San death glares as he lay on the chair, letting Yoojung wash his hair. San doesn't know how he's focusing on belittling San with his dagger eyes when his hair was being washed (San always blisses out when they do that). After a while he's sat down on one of the stools as Yoojung gets around to mixing the dye.

The time is 12:52 when the dye is brushed into Wooyoung's blonde hair at its roots, little folds of aluminium twisted around his locks of hair all over his head. San watches, amused, as Wooyoung pulls faces at the mirror, ignoring the giggles from Yoojung behind him.

When he's sure Wooyoung isn't looking, San sneaks his phone out and snaps a few photos of him (he didn't notice), being annoying and zooming in on his face before taking the picture. He gets caught anyway, and Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at the camera, making San laugh.

"That'll take a while," Yoojung says, sitting down on the chair across from San. The time was 1:13.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll prepare the hair masks in a while."

"Okay," San exhales, relaxing. The silence rings in his ears, and before he realizes, his eyes fall shut.

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

"SAN!"

He cracks his eye open and – _oh, holy shit._

He's dazed by how _stunning_ Wooyoung looks with darker hair when Wooyoung grabs him by the neck of his shirt. He's looking at him, eyes full of panic and desperation. Next to them, Yoojung's on her phone, trying to catch an Uber.

"Look at the time," he grits out, and San's eyes focus on the clock on the other end of the room.

_2:28 PM._

"FUCK." The single word slips past San's lips and now he's awake, every nerve in his body on fire as he scrambles for his phone.

"I've got the Uber," Yoojung pockets her phone. San feels like he's going to piss himself – _oh, Coach is going to be SO mad at me._

"Fuck, fuck – how much was it?" San fishes out his wallet and has paid Yoojung before Wooyoung can even register what had just happened. Wordlessly, he grabs Wooyoung's wrist and tugs him down the stairs, yelling a 'thanks!' to Yoojung before leaving.

"Dude, we are _so_ fucked." San glances anxiously at his phone. _2:31._ They haven't even had lunch yet.

"I know," Wooyoung's eyes are wide in fear. "This isn't good. Not good at all."

Their Uber arrives not much later. The two of them scramble into the back seat as the car rumbles off. 2:38.

San's phone rings.

They stare, dismayed, at the hovering icon of Hoseok's number. San knows he's not making it out of this call alive, but nevertheless, he slides to answer.

"Hi –"

" _No hi's, Choi San. Where the fuck are you?_ "

Okay. Hoseok was being vituperative with his choice of words. San gulps.

"I swear coach, we lost track of time. We're on our way back. Right now." San squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation for a reply, but Hoseok hangs up in his ear.

When they make it back to the inn, things aren't looking too good for them. Practice has started and Hoseok's sitting on the beach, watching the players with a grim face. They approach him quietly, guilt increasing by tenfold.

"Coach . . ."

Hoseok glares at them.

"Coach, I can explain." San raises a hand. 

"Go ahead. I'm listening."

Patiently, San tells him how he'd taken Wooyoung to get his hair dyed after a lost bet, and how he thought there would be enough time to eat and come back in time for training but that the circumstances changed and they panicked, having to come back with empty stomachs (and a blue-haired Wooyoung).

Hoseok listens, brows knitted. Then his eyes soften.

"Go eat something, there's some leftover in the lobby," he says, sighing.

"You can't take part in training today. Instead I'll send you both swimming for two hours."

" _Both of us_?" They exclaim.

"Yeah, both of you," Hoseok eyes them and they fall silent.

"Team manager and team captain. Not a nice example. I understand this is Wooyoung's first time," Hoseok looks at Wooyoung and then at San, warily, "but San, this is the second time you've been irresponsible. If you're not careful I might give your position to someone else –" San shakes his head vigorously, tears brimming his eyes – "and none of us wants that."

Silence. Then, "I'm sorry, Coach."

"I don't want to see this from any of you again." Hoseok says coldly. "Now go have lunch. I'll give you instructions to the swimming track once you're done."

They nod, feeling horrible as they walk back to the inn. Yoongi isn't there, but another boy (Wooyoung briefly remembers his name to be Jeongguk, he'd helped with dinner the night before) is manning the counter for the day. He beams as they walk in.

"Hi!" He calls. "Here for lunch?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Cool," he chirps. "There's some leftover ramen, kimchi, rice, some kind of stew and spaghetti too . . . drinks are empty though."

"That's fine, I'll uh – go to our room and get some water." San looks at Wooyoung as he says this and the latter nods.

"What happened to you two? Benched?" Jeongguk continues, as Wooyoung takes a plate from the end of the table.

"Um." Wooyoung frowns. "No, I'm the. Uh." He feels his cheeks burn as he stares at the counter boy.

"Team manager. He's the captain."

"Oh.. I see." Jeongguk grins toothily. Of course he was thinking about how beautiful role models they were. "Yeah, I know San, I've seen him around last year too. Where were you both? Hoseokie-hyung didn't seem very pleased when he called you."

Wordlessly, Wooyoung points to his new blue hair. _It actually doesn't look all that bad._

"Went to get my hair dyed," he mumbles. "Lost a bet."

He turns around to the sound of San's footsteps pattering down the stairs. He tosses Wooyoung a water bottle and proceeds to the table, ladling some rice, stew and kimchi into a plate. Wooyoung stares for a while before piling his plate with spaghetti, promising himself the ramen can wait.

They head out to the beach with their plates, sitting on the steps of the front porch. San stares blankly at his team practising on the beach, then tears his eyes away, looking at Wooyoung with a pained gaze.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "It's my fault. We could have waited."

"No, I agreed to it." Wooyoung squints at San, who was still looking at the team, eyes glassed over.

"Hey," he exclaims. "Are you crying?"

"No." San blinks heavily, and then looks down at his plate. _Even the plate looks like it's chastising me for being so careless._

"Oh, shut up." Wooyoung puts his plate down and wraps his arms around San. The boy doesn't return the action, but Wooyoung doesn't mind.

"It's okay. From now on we won't do shit like that on a packed schedule. Okay?" He pauses, then says, "we'll both be more responsible from now on. Sort out our priorities."

San nods, wiping at his eyes. Wooyoung hums and pats his shoulder reassuringly.

"We'll make up for it with the swimming. It'll be fun. Just you and me, yeah?"

"Yeah." San whispers. "Thanks."

They finish their meal in silence. Wooyoung gets up and is about to go clear his plate, when San stops him, clears his throat, and says, "you look _really_ good."

Wooyoung blinks back, the heat rushing to his cheeks.

"The blue looks stunning on you," San admits, and he gets up as well. "Just thought I'd let you know."

With that, he heads to the back of the inn, where the bins are kept.

Wooyoung stands there for a while. _He just said I look good._

No one told him that (maybe except his mother, and Haeun) – so having San suddenly tell him about how good he looked made Wooyoung feel flustered.

He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. Sighing, he turns around and heads to the back of the inn, but the other boy has already left.

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

They have to take quite a long walk down the beach before they reach the walkway leading out to sea.

After going to their rooms and getting changed into their wetsuits, they'd returned to Hoseok who only pointed down the beach and to the small brown line which they make out to be the walkway.

"I'll send Jeongguk to look after you," Hoseok had said. The two boys exchanged a look before shaking their heads no.

"We'll be fine," San had reassured, "I have my phone with me and so does Wooyoung."

Now they're walking down the wooden walkway around a few hundred or so meters out to sea. They catch a glimpse of the designated area – enclosed by floating tracks, lanes separated by a rope stretched from one end to the other. San leaves his backpack near the starting block of lane one, and Wooyoung follows suit, dropping his bag near the block on lane two.

"Do you think we should warm up first?" San asks, then immediately realizes how stupid he sounds.

"And you're the team captain," Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. 

San ends up doing the handball stretches (as long as he figures, there can't be too significant of a difference, right?) and Wooyoung follows suit (before, as a former swimmer, showing him some stretches they do). When they're both ready, they climb up onto the blocks, goggles on.

"Freestyle, 100 meters?" San asks. Wooyoung nods.

"Okay then. On three."

He holds up his hand. Three fingers. Then two. Then one.

"Go."

They jump.

The water slams into San, cold and unforgiving – but he cuts through, arms piercing through the sea as he swims, breath entering his system in short needy gasps. He reaches the other side – that's 25 down – and now he has two laps to finish. He rests his feet against the platform and propels himself back towards the starting block, breath straining through every three motions and his arms and legs screaming for mercy against the bitter cold. All thoughts of his opponent lay forgotten as he pushes himself against the platform for the last time – the final round.

He surges on, shivers running up and down his spine from the frigid temperature of the water. He sees the platform drawing nearer, and nearer – he's there, just barely – and the next thing he knows, he's holding onto the link of the floating tracks, breathless.

Wooyoung had made it before him.

(San wasn't all that surprised. Wooyoung used to be a swimmer, after all.)

"How -?" San splutters. Wooyoung looks completely unaffected by the environment, and even as San stays in the water, feet paddling beneath him, he's shivering and his teeth are chattering more than he'd have liked.

(Not that he'd have ever liked for his teeth to chatter so obnoxiously.)

"I'm kinda used to it," Wooyoung shrugs. "I used to go swimming with Yeosang a lot when we were younger, too. I told you, I was a swimmer before."

"You're good," San notes, before diving underwater again. All Wooyoung can see are ripples as San glides under the water, popping up halfway through (screaming for breath) before continuing back to the starting block. He breaks the surface, taking in a few desperate gulps of air before shooting Wooyoung a pained but bright smile.

"Come on!" He calls. "100-meter backstroke."

Smiling, Wooyoung plunges back into the water.

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

It was only after they'd gotten back to the inn that San realized how cruel (but efficient) of a punishment swimming was.

He'd made up for the loss of training by utilizing his arms in the water sport – but the freezing waters made San remember this was a penalty for his carelessness and that he should endure it both during and after the swimming.

San had never been more thankful for the hot water in their inn than when he had got to his room trembling from the cold.

Wooyoung didn't seem too bothered by the experience. After they finished 100-meters of backstroke, they did another 400 meters of freestyle, taking a break before they pushed themselves to 1000 meters of freestyle (if Wooyoung was tired, he didn't show it). Then they took another break, and just kind of rinsed and repeated the whole procedure until one and a half hours had passed. San felt worn out and he had a feeling Wooyoung did too, so he had suggested jumping and diving for the fun of it.

So that's what they had done for the remaining 30 minutes; dive off the starting blocks, climb back up, and repeat (until San pushed Wooyoung into the sea before he could dive and then quite literally declared war) – then San had pulled a cannonball dive and lost his goggles underwater, and Wooyoung had retrieved it for him (San was pretty shaken up by the sting of seawater in his eyes and the few gulps of it that he'd taken in panic when he lost his goggles) and decided to take them both back to the room.

Currently they're seated on the beach for dinner – San's dressed up in a sweater, a jacket and jeans (very contrasting to Wooyoung, who's only wearing a hoodie and sweatpants) – San's dinner was ramen, kimchi and some seaweed and soft-boiled eggs – on Wooyoung's plate was bibimbap, complete with kimchi and gochujang sauce. They're waiting for Yeosang (the team manager in charge of mealtimes) to say the grace before they start.

San notices that he was eyeing his ramen very oddly. Then he raises his gaze to look at San, and whispers – "There was ramen?"

"Uh." San scratches the back of his head. "Yeah. This was the last of it, though."

"Great," Wooyoung grumbles. "It's not even on tomorrow's menu. I didn't get any today."

San thinks for a while. Then he says, "Do you want a bite? We could share . . ."

Wooyoung stares at him. They hadn't noticed that Yeosang had recited the grace and everyone was eating now – and he watches as San takes some noodles and kimchi from his chopsticks, bringing it up to Wooyoung's mouth.

"You don't have to –"

"Open," he says, and Wooyoung obliges obediently, trying to ignore San's gleeful smile and his own reddening cheeks as he lets San feed him.

Not once, not twice, but until almost half the bowl is empty.

"San, stop." Wooyoung pleads, as San raises his chopsticks again. "That's your food."

"I'm okay," he says immediately. He then looks at Wooyoung's plate of bibimbap, which sat in front of him, untouched.

"We could . . . share that too, if you like," he suggests. Wooyoung nods, heat still prickling his cheeks.

"Yeah." He sighs. "Yeah, I'd like that. Thanks."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

After dinner, Wooyoung goes to Yeosang's room (and ended up cuddling him, but it's not like Yeosang minded) after San said he had somewhere to go. Curious but not willing to pry too deep, he spends a majority of his evening in Yeosang's room (Jongho had already fallen asleep, the boy was beat) and Wooyoung's own eyelids were betraying him against his needs now.

The time reads 10:40 when his phone dings in his pocket. He lifts his head from Yeosang's lap to see that his best friend had fallen asleep as well. Silently, he takes out his phone, seeing one message from San:

10:40  
⛰️  
pls come out for a second i have sth to show you

10:40  
 **me** **  
** what

10:41  
⛰️ **  
**JUST COME OUT IT AINT THAT HARD

10:41  
 **me** **  
** IM BI

10:42  
⛰️ **  
**NOT LIKE THAT BUT I SUPPORT YOU

Eyes twinkling as he suppresses a laugh, he leaves Yeosang's room (after making Yeosang lie down on his bed and tucking him in properly). He goes out onto the front porch and sees San's figure sitting on the beach, hugging his knees to his chest.

He runs over.

"Where'd you go off to?" He asks, falling to the sand next to San.

Without replying, San turns the flashlight on from his phone. He shines it on himself, grinning widely.

"Surprise."

" _You dyed your hair!_ " Wooyoung exclaims, reaching out to touch the blue highlight in San's hair.

"And it's identical to yours, yeah," San smiles, completing Wooyoung's thoughts.

"You look like a little pie-chart head," Wooyoung blurts out, and San throws his head back in laughter.

"But you look really good," he says, tone more serious. "It suits you. Now we're matching."

_Now we're matching._

"Yeah," San squeaks. "Matching."

They stay there in each other's company for what seems like a few minutes, looking out to sea. The stars were out and shining brightly, and Wooyoung feels himself experiencing a feeling of peace – one that washed over his whole being and touched his very soul in waves that made him feel safe.

And, besides, San was with him.

Nothing could go wrong.

"Oh, and uh." San turns to look at Wooyoung.

"I know we went swimming earlier and all that, but . . ." he clears his throat.

"Can you practise with me? For like, half an hour? Or an hour –"

"Of course," Wooyoung agrees in a heartbeat. "Anything for you. I can't do much when it comes to sports, but if it makes you feel better, sure."

San smiles again – one of those genuine smiles of his that always shows off his cute dimples and makes his eyes turn into crescents. Wooyoung feels his heart melt.

"Thank you, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung pats his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

"No problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi guys!!! if you enjoyed reading this far, don't forget to leave a comment of a kudos, they mean the world to me :DD as usual, here's the playlist for this fic: ( [make a wish](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sqSsTsK9cX7Mt2rcaKoFe?si=8fLl1jt_RLKWzxYy1BmvYg) ) !! stay safe! i'll see you guys with another chapter another time <3


	8. Jung Wooyoung, 17, Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This long-ass training session is also making him come to terms with how dangerously attractive his roommate slash captain, Choi San, is.
> 
> (By dangerously, he means it. Every time he looks at San he feels like he's going to have a cardiac arrest.)
> 
> It's not good. It's actually mortifying that he finds San handsome all of a sudden because now he can't listen to Hoseok as he rambles on about the association and turning in team lists and jerseys for the year. All he can do is watch San as he did his training and try to keep his saliva inside the confines of his mouth.
> 
> That's hard to do when someone's as attractive as San is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 90 kudos and nearly 1000 hits!??@?!? ARE WE KIDDING DJHFJNJ oh my god thank you all so much :(( <3 here's chapter 8 hngh it's just One Big training session so buckle up!

The waking up process the following morning didn't involve any cold water being splashed on San's face.

Instead, he's woken by the steady beeping of both his and Wooyoung's alarms, at sharp 6. Groaning, he sits up and turns it off, expecting Wooyoung to do the same.

His alarm continued ringing, though. So San stood up went to Wooyoung's side of the room, bringing his phone to his ear. The latter wakes with a start, eyes wide as he registers San standing in front of him and holding his phone in such close proximity to his face that he could feel the heat radiating off of it.

"Good morning," San says bluntly, as Wooyoung shuts the alarm off with a grunt. "Do you wanna head in first?"

They both know what San's talking about. The night before, after they'd finished the impromptu training on the beach (he got a ball from Hyunsuk, a goalkeeper, easily enough) they'd gotten back to their room when it was nearing a half-past twelve. San had showered first but Wooyoung had fallen asleep by the time he had finished.

(Besides, he'd looked too tired for San to possibly wake him up, so he tucked the boy in and let him sleep comfortably.)

"Sure," Wooyoung replies, swinging his legs off the bed and walking into the bathroom. Surprisingly he doesn't take a whole hour and is out by 6:17, giving them both just enough time to get ready and head down to the beach for breakfast.

Breakfast for the day was bacon and scrambled eggs, oatmeal (with honey), sausages, some type of seafood rice and bread with jam. Yeosang sits in the centre, legs crossed, the morning grace scribbled on a piece of paper. Once Hoseok gives the go to read it, he obliges, and breakfast begins.

San and Wooyoung take a big bite of their oatmeal at once, looking like mirrored images for a moment. The food is great, and they're lost in the wonders of the sweet oatmeal until the soft chatter is broken by a shrill howl of laughter from Jisung.

On the other side of the circle, he and Seungmin are cackling loudly, their breakfast in front of them untouched. Then, before their very eyes, Jisung raises a hand and smacks Seungmin's cheek.

Seungmin doesn't even look fazed. Instead, he turns to his right and slaps the living daylights out of Yohan.

San puts down his bowl of oatmeal, marvelling the scene. _What the fuck do they think they're doing?_ He watches, amused, as Yohan spins around without a second thought and whacks a confused Hyunsuk across his face. 

The relay continues. For a good minute, all they hear are the resounding sounds of skin against skin, and the uncontrollable laughter now coming from the circle of 18. Even Yerim and Jiwoo do not hold back when their turns arrive.

Hoseok lowers his phone, a slice of bacon hanging in between his teeth. He grits it and it falls to his plate.

"What on Earth did I just witness?"

"Real comedy," says Seungmin with a completely straight face, and then slaps Jisung. Even Hoseok's frame trembled in mirth; at least until the last person in the circle was slapped and then he stood up and relayed it to Hoseok.

There was a wild goose chase on the beach that morning, and they enjoyed every second of it.

(San nearly dies laughing.)

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

Training is at 9 again, except this time it stretches on until 12 (with lunch at 1). The players are sent back to their room to rest before the three hours of intense physical training – and before they know it, all 14 players and 4 managers are assembled on the beach once again, at a quarter to 9.

"So," San calls the team to silence. Wooyoung stands next to him, his cap on and tablet in his hands. The other three managers are in line with him.

"We're choosing our jersey numbers."

There's an excited cheer from the players.

"As per usual, the seniors who played last year will get to make their picks first. I'll take 10," he adds, raising his hand. "Anyone against it?"

No one protests. San carries on.

"If two or more people want to go for the same number we'll let fate decide," his eyes twinkle as he says that. "Goalkeepers get the first and last number by default, but –" he looks at Jongho and Hyunsuk, "Jongho gets 1 since he's a full-court player, so Hyunsuk gets 14."

Wooyoung types that in.

"Now, the rest of my _fellow Year 12's,_ " San says in a singsong voice, "can come and choose your numbers. Between 2-13, everyone. Without 10 of course."

The only other Year-12's on the team were Yeonjun, Chan, Haknyeon, Hyunsuk, Jihoon and Yohan. They stepped forward, and selected their respective numbers – and just like that, 2, 3, 5, 8, 11 and 13 were taken. Then the Year-11's then chose theirs (there was a bit of a fight for number 9, but they flipped a coin and Hyunjin won) and Wooyoung stuffed his tablet in his backpack after filling everyone's numbers in, motioning for Hoseok to come and brief the team.

"It's 8:55 now," the coach looks at his watch as he comes to a stop in front of them. "We're going to shift to the track-and-field ground that's a few minutes from here."

San remembers the place. It's a few minutes from the beach and is one of the other reasons they chose this inn to stay in every time. The complex was big and open and had some aspects of a park to it, with benches and trees and buttercups growing in a circle of grass which sometimes served as a nice spot to warm down in. Some of their most memorable training sessions have taken place on that field – the U-17 team sprinting 400 meters without a care in the world, screams echoing in the emptiness surrounding them as they race for the finish line. He even remembers one occasion when he was 15, where they had done their warm-ups in the rain with the wind ripping through their hair and making them shiver – but they still completed the regimen regardless.

"You can actually walk there in 4 minutes," Hoseok raises an eyebrow, breaking San out of his trance, "so if you run, we can make it in 2."

Silence. Then the dread settles in.  


San swallows thickly. He can still distinctly taste the honey from breakfast in his mouth and suddenly he wants to throw up.

"You're gonna make us _jog_ to our warm-ups?" Sunwoo squeaks.

"Yes. After you get there, that won't be all. I need 5 rounds nonstop jogging, and the whole team should be _consistent._ " Hoseok glances at them icily. "If any of you slow down or fall behind it'll bring on another two rounds of jogging. Is that clear?"

The team echoes back a half-hearted, "yes, sir."

While normally people would have found torture in 5 rounds of continuous jogging after quite literally sprinting for their lives, San knows – all too well, maybe – that Hoseok only pushes them so hard because he doesn't want to take chances with them lacking on the court. 

Handball, being the second fastest sport in the world, required lots of running and demanded more stamina and speed than people mostly assumed. The ball was constantly on the move and so were the players – you never had time to stop to catch your breath on the court. One goal, and you can't even spare a few seconds to hug your teammates. 

It's: score, run back to the centerline, pass, score, rinse and repeat. 

When playing, everyone's restless and trying to focus on the game and so, _so_ damn tired, but they still have to play. Everything happens so fast, so quickly, and that's why they can't risk players feeling out of it or exhausted. It's not good if they feel tired, and it's all the more reason for San to make sure the team doesn't complain about their training regimens. It's all for their own good. They'd be the people appreciating tough practice sessions when they're playing their actual matches.

Hoseok speaks again, shaking San back to reality. _I should seriously stop zoning out._ "Afterwards, you'll do your normal stretches, wall stretches, and then I'll give you the next set of instructions. Yerim, Wooyoung, I'll have you two attend to practice today. Yeosang and Jiwoo can help me with the jerseys and sorting out the team list."

The managers nod, directions clear.

"It's 8:58 now," Hoseok calls, and the team perks up, getting into line on instinct. "If I were you, I'd get there by 9 sharp. Wooyoung, time them. We'll take a few water bottles and leave the backpacks here since we'll be coming back to the beach." Hoseok looks at them, and brings the whistle hanging around his neck to his lips.

One shrill blow, and the team are off.

Even from the first steps San takes towards the street, he can sense the sheer desperation of the current situation, with the team having to get to the running tracks in under two minutes. He runs, not even looking if he's jogging or sprinting. Wooyoung draws to the front of the line next to San, stopwatch in hand, sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

"We're nearly there," he pants. "Just a little over a minute left." He turns around, facing the players, "Come on, team, you got this!"

San appreciates the gesture – usually, he'd be the one doing the yelling, but for now, he was channelling all his attention into getting to the fields by 9 sharp.

He can hear little screams from the back of the line as they draw nearer to the double gates of the track-and-field complex. With a final surge of energy, he bursts through the entrance, finding home in the innermost lane which hugged the circle of grass in the middle of the field. San feels happiness seeing the familiar yellowness of the buttercups littering the green grass.

"Okay, team, you can slow down now," he calls, trying to catch his breath as he slowed his pace. The heavy drag of feet against the dust-covered rocky ground soon covered the desperate huffing and puffing from the 14 players, even more so from Wooyoung, who strolled next to the line in the neighbouring lane at a leisurely pace, breathing heavily and wiping sweat on his sleeve.

"You made it with just 1.3 seconds to spare," he informs with a grin. The team breathe out collectively in relief.

"Coach's here," Jisung says from the back of the line. "Yeosang and the two girls are with him too. They're carrying the ice-box."

"So they actually did leave our backpacks behind."

"Shhh, no talking," San hushes them wildly. "Jog, jog, jog. Talking will make us more tired and we don't even know what today's regimen has in store for us."

With that, the team falls into silence, as they set their minds on finishing the assigned 5 rounds around the track. Wooyoung takes a detour after the first round, joining his fellow managers and Hoseok where they're seated on a bench under a tree.

They finish jogging in around twelve minutes, San making them slow down to a steady walk 300 meters into the last round. They amble along in their line, calves screaming and burning with every step. San knows they can't take more than a quarter of an hour on their stretches so he gathers them on the grassy circle, going through all their basic stretches and the dynamics before taking them to the chain-link fence on the other side of the complex.

Wall stretches. Something he hasn't done in a while, but he still remembers the intensity and efficiency of each move, and how the team were supposed to count their timings out loud always. There's a small wall to support the fence and is what the team would be using as a foothold as they worked.

"Okay, team, spread out," San calls, and the players shuffle, taking double-arm distance before settling in their places. They do the stretches one by one – beginning with the easier ones and slowly making their way up (quite literally, they were gripping onto the links for dear life now) until they finished. Their feet finally make contact with solid ground again as they jump, and see Yerim and Wooyoung standing there, in conversation.

"Hi," San calls, running a hand through his damp hair, "what's the time?"

Yerim looks around at him. "Nine twenty-three," she answers. San nods, facing the team.

"Back to Coach, everyone!"

They head back to the other side of the grounds to where Yeosang, Jiwoo and their coach were. Hoseok looks up from his tablet as he hears the noise of the team approaching, chatter over the heavy drag of their feet and the occasional obnoxious laughs from Year-11s.

"Good job," he gets up, walking over to the team. "Your next round, I fear, isn't going to be all that easy."

No one blinks an eye.

"We'll do circuit training."

Not a word.

"As you know, the total circumference of this track is 400 meters," Hoseok goes on, "so I'll have you do a different set of exercises every 100-meter mark."

San gulps.

"I'll be expecting full sprint through this. Slow down if you want to, but don't lag behind. The first 100, you'll do fifteen push-ups. The next 100, 15 sit-ups. The next hundred, 15 jumping jacks. The last hundred, 15 mountain climbers."

Hoseok looks around at the disdainful, silent figures of the team. "Understood?"

"Yes, coach."

"Drink water while you can. Don't stop running until I tell you to."

Another chorus of, "Yes, coach."

"Go now. You can use the innermost lane."

At that, the tension in the team ripples down a bit, and San leads them back onto the track. They begin on the count of three.

To put it simply, San hasn't endured anything as torturous as what they did for the rest of the hour.

They started off fine. They were serious, not laughing, and focusing on the exercises at every 100-meter mark. Then, in the middle of the fifth round, Youngjae felt dizzy and excused himself. Through the seventh round, Hyunsuk called to slow down (and that's what they did). By the time they finished the eleventh (and last) round (Hoseok had called them as they jogged by to finish their tenth) most of the Year-11's were in tears, and they made their way to where Hoseok was, breath strained and muscles on fire, but still proud of completing the training regardless.

"Good job," Hoseok calls, grinning widely. "That was a perfect thirty minutes. Five minutes break and then we'll begin on Fartlek training."

There's a collective groan from the team. The managers busy themselves with distributing bottles of water to the players.

"What's up," Wooyoung tosses him a bottle, catching him off guard. San scrambles to grab it.

"Hi." He opens the bottle with a distinct crack and gratefully guzzles some water. He feels Wooyoung's gaze burning into his neck and he lowers the bottle, throwing him a questioning look. _Is something wrong?_

Wooyoung blinks, then smiles hazily. San takes another gulp of water, bottle not making contact with his lips.

The rest of the break is spent sitting around on benches, letting themselves cool off. Then, at 10:05, Hoseok calls for them to line up, before they set off to begin their fartlek training – 100 meters sprinting, 100 meters jogging, 200 meters sprinting, 100 meters walk, repeat.

San knows they can't all be paced equally, so he lets them go in twos and threes and sets off after sending everyone ahead of him. He takes in a deep breath. 

_This is going to be a long, long training session._

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

Oh, yes, it's one _very_ long training session indeed – and Wooyoung feels very, very uncomfortable.

For one thing, he's surrounded by good-looking girls and boys, and his bisexual ass is in a lot of pain and suffering. On the other hand, wearing a long-sleeved jersey was a _huge_ mistake on his behalf. The heat on the grounds was _stifling_ and made him want to pull his clothes off.

And this long-ass training session is also making him come to terms with how dangerously attractive his roommate slash captain, Choi San, is.

(By dangerously, he means it. Every time he looks at San he feels like he's going to have a cardiac arrest.)

It's not good. It's actually mortifying that he finds San handsome all of a sudden because now he can't listen to Hoseok as he rambles on about the association and turning in team lists and jerseys for the year. All he can do is watch San as he did his training and try to keep his saliva inside the confines of his mouth.

That's hard to do when someone's as attractive as San is.

" – Wooyoung. Earth to Wooyoung."

_Ah, shit. Here we go again._

Grinning guiltily, Wooyoung looks back at his co-managers and Hoseok, all of who were staring at him. "Hi."

"Back to what I was saying," Hoseok twirls his pen when he's sure Wooyoung's listening. "For this year's jerseys . . ."

Wooyoung's trying to focus, he really is. It's not his fault that his attention is being demanded by the boy(s) sprinting/jogging on the track. He remembers earlier, seeing San _guzzle_ his water – and how San caught him (not) very discreetly looking at his neck – the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, his neck veins prominent against his tanned skin – _woah, Wooyoung, calm down, your gay is showing._

" – Wooyoung. Do you want a break?"

"Huh?"

"You're zoning out," Hoseok sighs, exasperated. "Did you get enough sleep?"

Wooyoung frowns. _When did I ever get enough sleep?_ "Uh, I guess so."

"Get some rest. Do you want to go back to the beach?"

_And not see Choi San the Eye Candy?_ "No, hyung."

"Okay. Why don't you go take a walk on the grass then? Just . . . report to me when you're feeling more attentive."

Wooyoung gulps, feeling remorseful. "No, I'm fine, I swear."

"If you say so." Hoseok clears his throat. "As I was saying. We can't wait until the last minute for jersey designing. Based on Danwon's official colours and the jerseys from the previous years . . ." He trails off, squinting at the tracks.

"HAN JISUNG!" Hoseok screeches, grabbing the attention of a boy slowly lumbering along the inner lane. "JOG! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Without a word, Jisung sets off at a speed that definitely counted as more than a jog.

Wooyoung spends the rest of the time until Hoseok called on the team trying to input as many ideas as his 10 AM brain could. He flinches as Hoseok blows his whistle at 10:30, calling for the players to come back after they finish their current rounds.

"One minute, go drink some water," Hoseok shouts, over the cluster of players now mobbing around the icebox. "I'M COUNTING!"

The blue-haired stands there, amused, as the team takes turns drinking water and falls in at a perfect line in front of Hoseok in under 60 seconds. He holds in a snort. However Hoseok is training them, it doesn't seem much different from the Danwon Cadet Corp he was a part of in sixth grade.

"The time is 10:33," Hoseok informs them, as they become silent. "Now we'll be working on footwork and agility. As you can see the pavement we're standing right now is a little higher than the track –" Wooyoung feels his stomach swoop as he sees the looks on the players' faces go from attentive to horrified – "So we'll be taking advantage of it."

Wooyoung resists the urge to laugh as Yeonjun's jaw drops.

"Don't worry, there isn't much of it," Hoseok assures. "We'll just do three to five sets from each exercise until 11:05 and then we'll go back to the beach to finish up. Ready?"

The team line up on the ground near the edge of the pavement.

"First we interchange. One by one," Hoseok instructs. "Do it with speed. In three, two, one."

The next thirty minutes are spent on footwork – shuffling two feet separately, together, and then doing 'simpler' drills like high knees and fast feet (though Wooyoung couldn't really see the simplicity in them). Wooyoung finds himself unable to peel his eyes away from San again – the way his face scrunched up as he concentrated and the little whimpers of exhaustion that spilt from his lips occasionally – _Wow, Wooyoung is having a very homosexual day._

As they finish up at 11:05 and gather up their things to trek back to the beach, Wooyoung (almost literally) floats towards San, face pulled into a (cute) scowl.

"Choi San," he chides, making San jump.

"You're hot _._ " The words are out before he can stop himself.

"Wha- _What?_ " San looks bewildered, and Wooyoung feels blood rushing to his cheeks.

"I-I mean." He clears his throat. _Fuck you and your brain, Jung Wooyoung._ "You're hot. You need a shower."

"Ah, right," San nods. "Yeah, you look like you need one too. Why'd you choose to wear a long-sleeved jersey?"

"Because I'm dumb, I thought we already established that fact."

"Says the star student in Year 12." San rolls his eyes, earning a punch on his shoulder from Wooyoung.

The walk back to the beach is fast and they're in front of the inn before they know it. The players sit down to rest for a few minutes, before they begin the last part of their training for the day – the exercises.

Wooyoung sits down with the other three managers as Hoseok handles the team, who are now dispersed on the sand doing sit-ups. Then it changes to crunches. Then flutter kicks. Then scissors. Then leg raises. Then what seems like at least three minutes of planks. 

By then the groans and complains are so loud it physically aggravates Wooyoung to keep listening. 

What Wooyoung _doesn't_ expect, however, is Hoseok making them write out the English alphabet with their feet while lying down (he could've sworn he heard someone scream, " _Can I write ELLEMENOPEE?_ ") and then at 11:50, training concludes with partner stretches.

He feels exhausted. And he'd been doing literally nothing but sitting and spectating 14 (very incredibly good looking) guys train for the past three hours.

The team come hoarding around the front porch, grabbing their own water bottles from their backpacks. Some of them dunk the ice-cold water on themselves, drenching their figures from head to toe. Others strip their jerseys off before doing the same. Others choose to do it . . . in a more civilized manner.

_Another_ thing Wooyoung wasn't expecting was for San to be among the monkeys that stripped their jerseys off. _Jesus, do all guys do this after training?_

"What are you _doing_?" Wooyoung hisses, watching San throw his jersey onto the sand like it was a banana peel of sorts.

"Taking my jersey off," he shrugs.

"Yeah, but _why the fuck –_ "

Wooyoung watches, mouth hanging open like a trapdoor, as San ignores him and follows in his teammates' footsteps (in which he promptly empties his water bottle onto himself).

"For this." San grins, water still dripping down his face. He turns around, facing the team (most of who had stuffed their cheeks with cubes from the icebox), and yells.

" _EVERYONE INTO THE FUCKING SEA!_ "

There's a hilarious delay before the team responds with an ear-splitting yell. San makes a grab for Wooyoung's elbow and he backs away, knowing this wasn't going to end well.

"San no San no SAN NO –" He's being dragged towards the shore now – "NO, OH MY GOD!"

Hoseok looks up from his tablet to see three laughing managers and one manager thrashing in the captain's firm grasp as he's slowly tugged towards the sea. He looks like he wants to yell, but Wooyoung beats him to it.

"FUCK YOU, CHOI SAN!" Wooyoung screams, earning hoots of laughter from around him. "LEAVE ME OUT OF YOUR BULLSHIT I'M FUCKING _DRESSED_ –"

"No discriminating," San smiles sweetly at him before he pushes Wooyoung face-first into the sea. 

Wooyoung's knees hit the sand and he sits up in the sea, gasping for air. His clothes are heavy on him and the water is refreshingly cool, but he puts all his focus in mustering the ugliest look he can for San.

"You're adorable," San remarks, before running in after him.

No one remembers they have lunch in an hour – not until Yeosang yells at them from up the beach, anyway.

(Wooyoung gets out of the water feeling thankful to San, for making him remember how it's like to belong in a team again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi!!! thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed it please leave comments/kudos, it really means a lot to me to hear your feedback (even a kudos is enough tbh i feel the love <3)!!! again, here's the playlist for this fic; ( [make a wish](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sqSsTsK9cX7Mt2rcaKoFe?si=8fLl1jt_RLKWzxYy1BmvYg) ) !! talk to me on twt ( @chimflowers ) if you'd like to <3 until next time!! stay safe, ily all <3


	9. Choi San, 17, Also Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's your name?"
> 
> "Choi San," he breathes. "Yeah."
> 
> "Choi San," Seonghwa muses, the corner of his lips pulling upwards in a teasing smirk. 
> 
> "Pretty name for a pretty boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH thank u all for the 100+ kudos and 1.3k hits :(( <3 i really appreciate it so much, i can't even begin to put it in words!! although the chapter's kind of delayed, it's quite long (standing at 5.4k!) so i hope it keeps you well-fed until the next time i update <3 thank you all for waiting! without further ado, here's chapter 9 :D

That evening, San decides to take Wooyoung out to the lunch (well, dinner, given the time) they never got to have together.

They go back into their room after spending some time with the rest of the team on the beach, playing childish games and talking about Danwon tea (San thinks boys gossip better than girls do, to be honest). Wooyoung heads for the shower first, so San lies down on the floor, staring at the spiralling centre of the ceiling fan above him.

If San thinks about it, this has to be the best training trip he's been to, in his four years as a Danwon representative. Sure, he's had fun and unforgettable times, but San feels that this time is . . . _different._ The team has changed, of course, and so have the managers, roommates, and everything else but the place they stayed at and the things they did as a team.

Yet he feels more content. _Was that weird?_

Of course, there's the logical side of San's mind that immediately chastises him for his horrendous troublemaker tendencies and rash decisions. Then there's the dramatic internal monologue playing that tells him that all the times he's gotten into trouble, both at practice _and_ at school, were all going to be worth it in the end.

Maybe it was his sentimentality getting to him once again, since it _was_ his last year of high school and he'd be graduating with a good portion of the team hand-in-hand with him – so if he thinks about the dumb shit he's done in the past months of Year 12, he thinks it's time well spent.

Like getting Wooyoung to dye his hair. Jumping out of a window on the third floor in their school without getting caught. Adding a little more of everything than needed in all their Chemistry experiments. Pressing a cockroach into teacher Lee Minho's record book (yes, he _was_ the one who'd done that). Even that damned milk packet fiasco.

At least he'd be graduating with some fun memories.

(San's sure he wouldn't be able to look at a Devondale milk packet without seeing the ghost of the object lying on the red roof of Yongsan International School of Seoul.)

San lets his cassette tape of memories reel a few years back. He remembers when he found out he was gay - it had been in ninth grade, when he got asked out by _the_ Kim Jungeun (who, to say the very least, had girls and boys alike on their knees) and he, sadly, didn't feel _shit._ Not even when she moved so close to him that he could smell her kiwi shampoo and a distinct hint of mocha in her breath – he'd pushed her away, said 'I'm not interested,' and left the scene.

(He does remember her calling him a pretty boy, though. The words _could_ make his heart flutter. Just not when it came out of a _girl's_ mouth.)

He comes a little forth – his Year-11 results. Even though he'd joked about it with Wooyoung, San had never gotten that badly yelled at upon coming home from school as he had on that day.

He doesn't recall a single day he'd cried that much, either.

If he concentrates enough, he can still hear his mother's distinct words to Yejun.

_Don't be like your brother._

He sees Yejun's look ghosting into his own, eyes empty, teeth biting down so hard on his bottom lip he could've drawn blood.

Yejun didn't say a single word in reply to their mother. (San still loves him for that.)

He remembers their father threatening to cut off all of San's extracurriculars and leisure privileges if his grades carried on as they did. He remembers their father tearing up San's (only copy of) physical report card, the C's and D's fluttering down to the floor as were the bits and pieces of his heart.

_You can't try-out for handball nationals if you don't pass all your subjects for this year._

_Why can't you be more like Yejun?_

_I'll throw you out of the house. Bringing disgrace to the Choi family._

Lying there on the floor, San lets loose a humourless laugh. He blinks away the tears biting at his eyes.

Of course that was all they cared about. The _status_ of the Choi family.

_Oh, I don't know where I'd be if I had told them I like boys._

Back then, he hadn't really cared about what his parents had to say about his grades. He was an average student who got average grades in everything (except for Physics, if he tried). He was a star handball player. What he didn't have in the academics department, he could definitely make up for with his skill on the handball court. If he got a C, D or a fail, that's what he got. Their report cards were never discussed (unless it was horrifying).

It had always been like that. It was an unspoken rule in the Choi family.

(At least, for San.)

No one cared. He didn't care. He never would.

Until Wooyoung walked into the picture.

Just like that. Complete with his silver wire-frame glasses, big doe eyes that shone every time he wasn't looking at a textbook, near-perfect grades, and his little mix of coffee and Monster energy drink. 

It was as if the world knew San was suffering, and had decided to send another boy along to suffer with him. 

But it was only after Wooyoung had opened up to him about why he cared so much, that San realized how selfish and ungrateful he was being. San easily had everything. He has the money (his dad owned CM Entertainment), a lovely comfortable home, the privilege of travelling wherever, wearing whatever, eating whatever.

Wooyoung had none of it yet he still tried.

San had it all and he didn't.

(Somehow that hit a little harder than his parents' words to him. _Just a little._ )

_A worthless, egotistical little bitch. That's what you are._

That's probably why San found himself caring just a _teeny_ bit more about his grades this year. He found himself wanting to actually do well on his exams for once, make his parents look at him with something in their eyes that spelt pride and love. Especially because it was his last year.

And most of all, he didn't want Wooyoung to think he was making empty efforts. He _actually_ wants to try for once, try to restore all the hope that his parents had lost back in Year 11.

San closes his eyes and thanks the heavens for bringing Wooyoung to him.

The door to the bathroom suddenly opens and San sits up, his memory tape clicking to an end. Somewhere in his mind, his train of thoughts gets derailed.

"You're crying," is the first thing that Wooyoung says.

"Huh?" San brushes a finger under his eye and recoils when he feels the wetness. He chuckles.

"Did something happen?" Wooyoung asks, crouching down next to him. San can smell his apple-scented body wash, but he tries not to focus on that for now.

"No," San decides to say. "Just . . . thinking about things."

Wooyoung takes in a deep breath, and nods.

He understands. San knows he does.

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

San takes a shower and gets ready for dinner. The silence in the room is heavy and neither Wooyoung nor San like it much, but San's feeling a little better when Wooyoung takes up the offer to go have dinner out (in place of the lunch they never got to have together).

They opt for KFC, per tradition, and San goes down to the beach to get Hoseok's approval while Wooyoung tries to get them an Uber. He's managed to get them a ride when San runs into the room to let him know they've gotten permission, and that a couple of others are headed into town for dinner as well.

"Same orders as last time?" Wooyoung offers San his hand as they head towards the street, which was buzzing with life. San takes it gratefully, appreciating the warmth of Wooyoung's hand on his own. It relit the fire in his heart that he'd put out earlier, crackling away merrily and providing a sense of ease.

It made him feel a little bit better.

". . . Yeah." San takes in an unnecessarily long breath. "I'll be fine with that."

They wait for their ride to arrive, watching the Busan nightlife before their very eyes, occasionally pointing at cars that took flight because of traffic (San yet has to be on a flying car ride). As much as San loves the city feeling Busan gives off (like any other), nothing is as reminiscent of the city to him as the seaside is. He still stands by how he'd said (back in seventh grade) that if Busan were a person, their heart and soul rested with the sea. There was just _something_ about the coast of Busan that differed from all others he'd seen – the waves and the shore caught in a never-ending spell of meeting each other for fleeting seconds before pulling away again – lulling and heaving in a continuous rhythm that sounded almost like music to the ears, melodies of heartache and finished stories but of hope and new starts as well.

San thinks it's beautiful.

(It has to be the most beautiful thing about Busan.)

Wooyoung gasps and points down the street to an approaching car – the number on its license plate matches up with the one on his phone. Their ride arrives in the form of a sleek black BMW, the front window rolling down as it hums to a halt next to the two boys.

Through the open window, San lays his eyes on the most beautiful man he's ever seen.

"Hi," their driver grins, pearly white teeth nearly blinding San from his equally stunning face. "Jung Wooyoung?"

"Him," San squawks, pushing Wooyoung towards the door. _Now isn't the time to go into a Gay Panic, Choi San._

"Nice," the driver nods towards the door and Wooyoung tugs it open, "we might have to take a flight, the traffic is pretty bad down here tonight."

_Wow. My first car flight and it happens to be with a very hot driver._

_Amazing._

San scrambles in after Wooyoung, the door slamming shut behind them. They fall forward as the car lurches ahead almost immediately, San swallowing down the scream building in his throat as he feels the wheels leave the tarmac not even a minute later. He hears some clicks and groans as the car adapts to flight mode, and it's like he forgets how to breathe in that very moment.

_Right, that's it, I'm sticking to traditional on-the-ground cars from now on._

He exchanges a desperate look with Wooyoung, whose eyes are wide with fear, back pancaked against the seat as they continue rising until the building tops of Busan are below them. It's clear that it's his first time in a flying car as well.

"Seonghwa, maintain level 9. You'll be fine, no air traffic right now." They hear a voice over the radio that's clearly speaking to their driver – _Seonghwa._

"Thanks, Woojin," Seonghwa utters quickly, before shutting the radio off. He presses a dial on the dashboard and San hears a gentle whirr, and before he knows it, Seonghwa's fully facing them, seat turned, hands off the wheel.

"Wha –" Wooyoung sputters, sinking back into his seat even more. " _Are you insane?_ "

"Relax, kid," Seonghwa laughs, and its such a sweet sound that San momentarily forgets that he'd been toeing the edge of his very untimely death just a minute ago. "This isn't the 21st century. The car can get us there just fine."

" _Right,_ " San echoes, and at that moment, Seonghwa registers his presence.

"What's your name?"

"Choi San," he breathes. "Yeah."

"Choi San," Seonghwa muses, the corner of his lips pulling upwards in a teasing smirk. "Pretty name for a pretty boy."

San _feels_ his heart stutter. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He's hyperaware of his surroundings now – how Wooyoung is staring at Seonghwa, _scrutinizing,_ almost – the windows of various buildings flying past the windows in a neon-clad blur, the gentle hums and creaks of the car as it traversed through the air, and how _fucking_ sweaty his hands have become.

Not convenient at all, how he's desperately rubbing his hands against the denim of his jeans in an attempt to get them to dry.

_You're making it too obvious. Don't make it too fucking obvious –_

"I'm headed for KFC too," Seonghwa breaks the icy silence in between the three of them, leaning back in his seat as casually as if they were in a living room with tea and biscuits in front of them. "That's why I picked your ride up. My uh, friend's there."

"Excuse me," Wooyoung clears his throat and San is taken back to the countless times he's done that in class. _It's only ever done if he wants to bring up a really good point or a really dumb one. No in-between._

". . . Seonghwa. Hyung," he adds on a whim, playing it safe with the honorifics. They weren't going to assume anyone's age here.

"Do you always dress like that or . . .?"

San takes a closer look at Seonghwa. His black hair is styled back, showing off his very prominent forehead and clearer skin than San could ever have. Only when he moves his gaze down that he realizes Seonghwa's donning a very _professional_ look, with a white shirt underneath a classic black suit and a necktie of the same colour around his neck. The only thing relatively warm about Seonghwa at that moment were his eyes and his smile, interconnected in displaying both Seonghwa's gentleness and cockiness in a manner San found most unsettling but also cute, in a way.

"No, I don't," Seonghwa throws his head back in a laugh. San wouldn't be half surprised if the laughter suddenly came to a stop and their driver was standing above Wooyoung with his head at gunpoint.

"My friend," he continues, probably referring to the one he mentioned earlier. "He won this . . . bet that we made. So he made me dress up like James Bond."

San doesn't even flinch when Seonghwa pulls out a gun from the insides of his suit – opposed to Wooyoung, who squeezes his eyes shut in a silent prayer as Seonghwa points the muzzle at them, finger on the trigger.

"It's not real, of course," he puts it away quickly, probably sensing the panic radiating off Wooyoung. "Just part of the outfit. Oh," he looks out the window and suddenly his seat swivels back into its original position, radio coming back to life with a flick of his finger.

"We're nearly there, I'll touch down now. Please put your belts on," Seonghwa adds, as he pulls the gearstick while listening to Woojin instructing him over the radio.

"Lane 3 is free of traffic, if you can land there and continue until the next right," Woojin says, and Seonghwa nods even though the controller can't see him.

"Thanks, I'll go for it now."

Wooyoung's hand subconsciously reaches for San's as they begin their descent, wheels making contact with firm ground at the same time Wooyoung exhales audibly (and very shakily).

"Are you okay?" San inquires, frowning at the other's shaken state.

"Heights," Wooyoung shudders. "Not for me. Nope. I don't like it."

"It's okay," San assures him, squeezing his hand gently. "Look, we're almost there. Do you want to try out the bot-order system if they have it?"

Wooyoung eases at that, a nod of his head giving San his reply. San had only tried the bot-order system thrice, and they'd all been for his own amusement. It was fascinating how he could choose to interact with a robot the same way he did with a human.

They draw into the parking lot of KFC, and the car comes to a halt not much later. Seonghwa shows them the total for their drive. San fishes out his card and presses it against the scanner embedded on the armrest, typing in the values on a keypad that pops up upon reading. His phone goes off with a _ping!_ as confirmation to the completed transaction when he withdraws his card, now less a few digits in money.

"Thank you," San calls, ignoring the little crack in his voice and grabbing Wooyoung's hand to pull him out of the car. He shuts the door behind them and _runs –_ quite literally breaks into a sprint, Wooyoung following behind him, out of breath and confused but eager.

"I can't stay around him longer," San gasps, as they burst through the double doors into the restaurant. "My gay ass. Can't stand it. Too good looking."

"Sit down, you need a break," Wooyoung demands, pushing him into a seat nearby. They look out the window and see Seonghwa getting out of the car, strolling over to the doors of the restaurant in a manner that screamed sophisticated.

"It's like he's walking on a red carpet," Wooyoung whispers, eyes following Seonghwa as he heads to the counter without a second glance at his previous passengers.

"Stop looking," San hisses, slapping Wooyoung's cheek gently. The other lets out a dry noise of mock offence.

"He might see you. Look, here comes a robot. Let's order."

They send off the cute white machine with a change in their initial orders (now having switched to a classic 9 piece chicken bucket, fries and a Sprite and Coke each) and sit back in their seat, San's fingers drumming on the red cushion to get rid of his pent-up energy. He's still subconsciously keeping a watch-out for Seonghwa, and he can't even focus on how good their food is once they arrived because all he can hear in his mind is a constant chant of _Seonghwa Seonghwa Seonghwa Seonghwa Seonghwa._

"Choi San," Wooyoung calls, waving a hand in front of San's eyes as he bites down on a chicken wing. " _Snap out of it_."

"Where is he?"

"I can't see him." Wooyoung dips a drumstick in barbecue sauce, holding it out to San. He stares at it reluctantly, then lets Wooyoung feed him just one bite.

"I'm constantly surrounded by guys, but I haven't felt like that around one in a while." San swallows. _Oh, it tastes so good._

"You know. Someone so damn attractive and flirty you feel worried that you'll fuck up or do something stupid and make it really obvious how flustered you are."

"Yeah," Wooyoung muses, sipping on his Coke. "I saw you wiping your hands on your jeans back in the car."

"Pretend you didn't see shit."

"Oh, but I did, Choi San."

They're finishing up their meal when San's phone suddenly rings. Wooyoung looks at him inquiringly as he fishes out his phone from his pocket.

"It's Mingi," San says, before dragging to answer and putting the phone on speaker.

"Hey," he calls. There's silence for a while, then Mingi's small voice: "Sani."

San peers at the phone, suspicious. "What's up?"

"My soulmate made a wish."

" _REALLY?_ " San's chicken wing lays forgotten as his voice rises with excitement. A few people look their way but he chooses to ignore them, even Wooyoung leaning in closer so he could hear Mingi.

"Yeah," Mingi says, and he sounds pained, almost like he's holding something back. Their hunches are confirmed when Mingi lets out an ugly snort, setting off both Wooyoung and San as well.

"They wished for another male goldfish," Mingi's practically crying with laughter at this point, "because they want to see if goldfish can be gay."

They laugh so hard San's sure the staff want to kick them out of the restaurant now. Sides aching and tears on his lashes, San takes a bite of his abandoned chicken wing. Wooyoung finishes the piece he'd been having before Mingi called and then proceeds to empty his drink.

"Who's with you?" Mingi asks, after he's done filling San in about classes and school in general.

"Oh, Wooyoung," San replies, looking at Wooyoung pointedly. The other coughs slightly, before going, "Hi, Mingi!" in the cutest tone imaginable.

"Hi to you too, Wooyoung," Mingi says, and San can just _see_ the wide, toothy grin on his best friend's face as he says that. "I hope you're having a good time with San. Isn't he annoying?"

"Oh, he is," Wooyoung says without a second of hesitation, and San chokes on his Sprite, (fake) offended.

"Very annoying. Woke me up with my alarm right under my ear."

"Says the same person who poured a glass of cold water onto my face," San retorts, and they hear Mingi cackle.

They stay on call until Mingi has to go to 'sleep'. Wooyoung blinks as he sees the time upon ending the call, raising an eyebrow at San.

"Oh, Mingi's a big baby." The time reads 21:41 (yes, a late time to have dinner, but apparently not too late for Mingi to sleep). San sighs as he slurps the last of his Sprite.

"He sleeps before ten every night. He's been like that since like, seventh grade." He motions for a robot to come over and show him a bill for their meal of the night.

"You're paying?" Wooyoung sounds just a bit incredulous, making San chortle.

"Of course I am, dummy," he says, pressing his card against the scanner being held out to him by the robot. His phone pings again, and Wooyoung pockets his wallet, a sigh of defeat escaping his lips.

"Then can I pay for the Uber back to the inn?" Wooyoung looks at him with a look that's all too similar to the pleading eyes emoji, and San feels his heart give in.

"If you wish." San smiles, and Wooyoung returns the action.

They're out of the double doors when San catches sight of the familiar BMW yet again. He stops, arm out in front of Wooyoung to bring him to a halt as well.

"Seonghwa," San whispers. "He hasn't left yet."

"And what about it?" A voice from behind them says.

San screams in shock.

Wooyoung snaps around as well, eyes wide, and his hand goes over his heart as he sees Seonghwa standing there, laughing at the near demise of the two boys in front of him.

"Speak of the _devil,_ " Wooyoung exclaims. San looks at Seonghwa, eyes ready to pop out of the sockets, red colour already making its way to his cheeks – from embarrassment or being flustered, the world may never know.

"You screamed really loud," Seonghwa points out, his keys jingling as he raises a hand. San gulps. _Yeah, tell me something I don't know._

"I know," he manages. "What do you want?"

"Oh, that's easy." Seonghwa smiles, and it's like the first time San saw him all over again – his heart palpitating, his mind comprehending nothing but a whole jumble of letters and sounds.

"I'd like your number."

"Wha –" Wooyoung sputters, obviously bewildered. " _Whose_ number?"

"Your friend's," the man points a finger at San, making him feel smaller than he already was. San closes his eyes to catch his breath. _This can't be happening. He can't have just asked for my number like that. No he didn't. He didn't._

"I'm very sure he'd like mine." _Ahhhhhhh, fuck._ San isn't even _looking,_ but he can picture Seonghwa smirking as he watches San quite literally have a Panic Gay moment in front of him. _Oh, fucking spawn of Satan._

"Aight." San opens one eye to look at Seonghwa, finally making up his mind.

"I'll give you my – my number." He takes Wooyoung's hand for moral support, and reassurance washes over him as he feels his fingers around San's hand. "But on one condition."

"Oh, anything," Seonghwa says immediately, and San wants to cry aloud – _this has to be some dumb dream. Wake up, San._

His grip on Wooyoung's hand tightens, almost desperately, as if he wants to confirm this is the real world and someone was indeed still tethering him to the ground.

San takes in a breath. "Drive us back to the inn," it ends up coming out like a command. Seonghwa actually does smirk this time, nodding towards his car.

"Let's go."

"But uh," San adds hastily, as Seonghwa begins walking towards the black BMW.

"Keep the car on the ground this time."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

Newly learnt fact: when Choi San is having one of his rare Gay Moments, he craves cookies.

(Chocolate chip cookies, in specific.)

Wooyoung feels like he's with a stubborn five-year-old as he tugs San to their room, after Seonghwa had dropped them off (free of charge, but Wooyoung paid him a modest amount anyway) at the inn. San's in a daze, wants cookies, feeling sleepy and _very_ gay.

"San," Wooyoung closes the door to their room and lets the boy sit on his bed. He squishes San's cheeks with his palms, leaning in closer. "SAN."

"Y-yes," San whimpers. "Hi. That's me."

"Are you okay?" Wooyoung asks, brows furrowing in genuine concern as San's bottom lip trembles. The next thing he knows San's all over him, arms draped around his neck as he screeches about Seonghwa.

" _He actually has my number?_ " He squeals, followed by a pretty close verbal depiction of a keyboard smash. "Wooyoung, _I'm so gay,_ did you fucking see him – ??" More screaming. Wooyoung sighs and holds the boy as he lets all his feelings out. _Is he angry? Is he upset? Excited? Fuck me if I know._

_Whoever he loves is a really, really lucky person._

"Yes, I saw him, Sani." Wooyoung laughs. _He was a stunning person, even I have to admit that._

"But now I want cookies," even though Wooyoung can't see him, he practically hears the pout in the boy's voice. "I want cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. Please," he adds, letting go to give Wooyoung his best puppy eyes.

Wooyoung's had Haeun do that on him countless times for extra scoops of ice cream. It doesn't faze him one bit.

"Where am I supposed to get you chocolate chip cookies, San?" Wooyoung asks, and San falls silent. Then his eyes light up, almost as if a lightbulb had gone off inside his orbs.

"Let's go make some," he whispers, excitedly.

Wooyoung blinks.

"You . . . you're kidding, right," he says slowly.

"Nope!" San is the real-life incarnation of a ':D' emoji as he says so. "Let's go!"

Wooyoung huffs, tired. "Where are we going to get the ingredients? And an oven? And a fridge? Huh?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, exactly."

"Can we go buy some, then?" San pouts, lower lip jutting out and bringing such a childlike innocence to him that Wooyoung can't help but coo. "Or at least buy the ingredients so we can go over to Jeonggukie-hyung's place and make them?"

"I'm too lazy," Wooyoung states in reply, flopping onto his bed. "I'll buy it online." He reconsiders his options. "Or . . . Will Jeonggukie-hyung be okay with us raiding his things? So we won't have to buy anything?"

San grins, a laugh spilling from his lips as he does so. "Yeah, probably. I'll ask him right now, hold up a second," he bolts out of the room with that, leaving Wooyoung on the bed amused and very, very endeared.

The things San does for his chocolate chip cookies.

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

Wooyoung crawls into bed that night knowing that Jeongguk's flatmate, Taehyung, had agreed to bake the cookies for them and send them over for breakfast the next morning.

(At least that spared them from the work of actually baking the cookies.)

San's lying in his bed across the room. The lights are off and nothing is audible in the room but the husky blow of the air conditioner. Both of them are on their phones – Wooyoung's reading some notes that his classmates had sent him, and he's pretty sure San's watching mukbangs or something along the likes of it.

He's curious (and sick of reading about microbes) so he turns his phone off, the darkness on his side of the room immediately capturing San's attention.

"You going to sleep?" He asks, voice tired and low. Wooyoung shakes his head.

"Nah, just wondered what you were up to."

"Oh, I –" San looks at the screen and back at Wooyoung, as if he doesn't know where to keep his gaze locked anymore. "I was watching fancams on YouTube."

"Of?" Wooyoung gets off his bed and makes himself at home on San's, crawling into the blanket next to him.

(If San is bothered, he doesn't show it.)

"A lot of the older groups," San admits, looking at Wooyoung. Even in the soft light of his phone (now on night mode to further save San's already very much strained eyes) Wooyoung can see every little intricate detail of San's face – the shape of his nose, the light smattering of freckles across his cheeks, the way his eyes shone with so much love and passion and _carefreeness._

"Like Twice, Treasure, BlackPink, TXT . . ."

"Oh." Wooyoung knows all of these groups, yet he'd never found himself as attached to them as he did with current-day ones.

"Yeah." San sighs, falling silent. Then he brightens again – "I have videos from the YG Family concert two years ago, if you want to see . . .?"

"Of course I do," Wooyoung replies, offended that San thought he wouldn't have wanted to.

"Okay! Here's when Yoon Seolhee gave us her opening song . . ." San clicks on a video in his gallery and suddenly Wooyoung's hearing a girl's beautiful voice as she sang her heart out, almost like if she didn't do it then she wouldn't be able to do it ever again.

"You were really close to the stage," he notes, and San visibly flushes.

"Yeah, I had. Uh." He coughs. "VIP tickets."

Wooyoung whistles. "Damn. Who'd you go with?"

"Mingi and Yejun," San says wistfully. "Fun times. Anyway, back to the video."

Wooyoung lays next to San for the next hour or so, listening to the boy ramble on and on about the amazing stages and artists who'd noticed him and songs he wished he'd heard that day.

Wooyoung wants to say something but he _can't_ – he finds it physically impossible – because all he wants to do is listen – listen as San pours his heart out about these people that he loves so much, listen as he silently sings along to the songs from his recordings, listen as he laughs upon recalling funny memories from the concert day or cry a little when he replays the ending ments.

And he's still listening as San's heartbeat paces itself and his breathing evens out, eyelids betraying him as they fall shut with the hints of a smile still on his lips.

_The bastard really fell asleep while he was talking about how much Yana reminded him of Joy from Red Velvet._

"Fool," Wooyoung whispers, laughing. He brings San's duvet up to his chin and gets off the bed with about as much skill as an untrained ninja, feet hitting the floor with a loud thud before he scurries to his own bed. He lies down, covering his head with his duvet, a giddy smile still on his face thanks to San's undying cuteness.

He uncovers his face, looking over at San's sleeping figure one last time.

(For that night.)

"You didn't say good night to me," Wooyoung sniffs dramatically, rubbing his nose for good measure. He turns around, still speaking to no one whatsoever. Just the darkness, him, and his own thoughts.

And it's not like San's going to hear him anyway.

"But since I'm nice, I'll say it to you. Good night, Sani, you did well today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! you've made it to the end HAHAH i hope you enjoyed reading!!! leave kudos and comments if you did, it really makes my day <33 here's the official playlist right here > ( [make a wish](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sqSsTsK9cX7Mt2rcaKoFe?si=8fLl1jt_RLKWzxYy1BmvYg) ) annndd you can talk to me on twt if you like ( @chimflowers ) !! i'll see you with another update, another time <333 byeee i love you all!


	10. Sunrises and Sunsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'll jump first. There's no way you're staying in here alone if I jump."
> 
> "What if I do?"
> 
> "You won't."
> 
> And with that, San jumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH HELLO EVERYONE sorry for the really late update!!! life has been hectic, with my laptop completely breaking and even my room getting a renovation, but !!! here's chapter 10!! standing at a little over 5k :D i hope you'll enjoy, forgive me for taking so long hsjnhjhf but without further ado, here's the update :)

San doesn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knows, he's being woken up at literal ass o'clock (he knows because there's zero light in the room) by an overly energetic Wooyoung.

"San! San!" He hisses, hitting San's cheeks repeatedly in an attempt to get him back to full consciousness.

"What the _fuck,_ Wooyoung," San groans, turning over. His eyes land on the clock – 5:32. Twenty-eight minutes before their usual alarm goes off.

"The sun doesn't rise for like, another two hours, why –"

"Yeah, I know," Wooyoung whispers excitedly. "But come out onto the beach with me. Please?"

"What even is there to do on the beach?" San pulls his pillow over his head. "Stare at the darkness?"

"The stars are out, you know," Wooyoung counters. He lays his head down on San's pillow, the extra weight on his head making San yelp.

"Or we could go biking. Or swimming. Or just walk down the beach." _I swear, he keeps suggesting things like it's a summer afternoon._

San blindly gropes around for his phone and presses the power button, slithering out from underneath his pillow and shining the light on Wooyoung's face.

"You're fucking _dressed_ ," San marvels, seeing Wooyoung's perfectly styled blue hair, and the sweater and jeans he was wearing. "I can't believe you."

"Let's _go_." Wooyoung tugs on San's arm, forcing the other to sit up and reprocess everything again.

San whines. "Can't we wait like, one more hour?"

Wooyoung lets out such a loud laugh that San's worried he'll have Hoseok at their door in a minute. "What, and miss _breakfast_? You're kidding, right?"

"Oh, yeah." Breakfast is at seven. And they'd always finished eating before the sun rose, came back to their room, and laid on their beds with the curtains drawn, weaving in and out of sleep until training at nine again.

It's day 4 of the trip and he hasn't seen a single sunrise yet. And it's like Wooyoung's reading his mind, because the next minute, he says: "Think about it, Sani, we've been here four days and we haven't seen a _single_ sunrise. That's so fucking lame."

_Took the words right out of my mouth._

That did it.

"Fuck you," San finally groans, and Wooyoung lets out a whoop of joy. 

San pulls on at least three sweaters and a jacket, leaving on the sweatpants he wore to sleep. He washes his face, brushes his teeth and picks out some snacks from the assortment they'd stashed in the fridge on their first day. Wooyoung's already waiting at the door, arms crossed, when San finally signals that he's ready (with his apricot yoghurt, biscuits and water bottle in his training bag – he thinks they're very valid pre-breakfast snacks).

Wooyoung closes the door to their room as softly as possible, not intending to wake anyone up before they had to. He says this to San, who merely snorts – "So you don't want to wake up the rest of them but you can wake _me_ up at a half-past five in the morning?" – and Wooyoung suppresses his laughter as they finally reach the lobby.

No one's there yet. They sneak around the corner and look around the foyer, before they catch sight of the closed front door.

San has a pretty good feeling that it's locked as well.

He wants to confirm, though, so he takes big strides towards the door and grabs the handle – yup. Locked.

He looks around to see Wooyoung's bummed face, the light in his eyes dimming as he connects the dots with the shut doors and empty reception counter. San feels his heart fall to his stomach. _Oh, he was so excited to go out he never considered the possibility of being locked in._

"You know what," Wooyoung says, his voice small. "Let's go back to the room."

"No," San makes a grab for Wooyoung's hand and looks into his eyes, defiant. "I can't let the one day I woke up before an alarm go to waste. Come on," with that he drags Wooyoung back to the staircase, jogging up the steps onto their floor.

"Back to the room." San whispers, reaching in his pocket for the key card and handing it to a confused Wooyoung. They make it back into their room and before Wooyoung can take off his jacket, San's pointing towards the window.

Wooyoung's mouth falls open like a trapdoor, seeing how serious San was about this.

"Are you _kidding_?" His voice comes out in between a whisper and a scream. "Jump out of the window? No."

"But that's the only way out," San protests. "Come on. It's nearly six, we don't have much time left before the others wake up."

"You're fucking insane," Wooyoung concludes. San splutters in indignance, already making his way to the window.

"Come on. It's just the first floor. Look," he opens the window, climbing onto the windowsill and swinging his legs across.

"I'll jump first. There's no way you're staying in here alone if I jump."

"What if I do?"

"You won't."

And with that, San jumps.

An unintended yell leaves his throat as the cold winter wind sinks its teeth into him relentlessly. He lands on his two feet, feeling a jolt of pain crackle through his bones as he made contact with the sand, but otherwise he was fine. Alive and unscathed.

(His fingers tighten around his training bag, glad that the snacks had made it out alive as well.)

San looks up to see Wooyoung gaping at him, pupils blown wide in fear.

That's when San remembers.

_"Heights," Wooyoung had said, just the night before. "Not for me. Nope. I don't like it."_

"WAIT!" San screams. "Wait, I forgot!"

Without replying, Wooyoung jumps as well, lips pursed in a desperate attempt to silence any noise that may leave his throat. He flails forward at the last second and lands on his hands and knees, a low groan slipping past both of their lips as they hear Wooyoung hit the ground – _hard._

"What kinda shit-ass landing was that?" San chides, helping Wooyoung up. He stumbles for a second before regaining balance, and takes a few steps to assure that his limbs still functioned.

"What kinda shit-ass _idea_ was that?" Wooyoung retorts, helpless. He brushes the sand off his jeans, not breaking eye-contact with San.

"I wasn't looking at you like that because of the height thing. I deadass forgot for a moment that you were a handball player and –" Wooyoung slaps San's arm, making him yell – "you could've broken a bone! And I'd have to be responsible because I was _there_ when you did it and I –"

"Yeah, but I'm fine now, let it rest," San deadpans, linking Wooyoung's fingers in his own, "the worst injury I've gotten was an ankle strain and that was because I wore weird knock-off shoes to play."

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow questioningly.

"Yeah, okay fine, I've dislocated my shoulder like once. But that's literally it," San says dismissively, hoping he's made it clear that it's the end of that conversation.

The beach is almost completely empty. The darkness isn't as whole and billowing anymore, and San thinks he can already see the velvety beginnings of the sunrise (that was still over an hour or two away) peeking over the horizon as they look out to sea. The wind is cold and crisp, making San shiver even under his multitude of sweaters, and deep down he realizes Wooyoung's right – there's _something_ about the beach on an early morning that was possibly too magical, too otherworldly to be put into words. His words stopped themselves on the tip of his tongue as he heeds the mellifluous sound of the waves hitting the shore, the surface of the water shining from the sharp starlight showering the Busan coast.

For a moment, he tries to put aside the freezing temperatures and focus on the nature surrounding them. No one else but Wooyoung and him, on a beach only barely lit with the yellow lamps gracing the front porch of the inn – listening to the waves as they continue singing their everyday song even through the harshness of the winter – the breeze cold and salty and reaching every part of his mind to _refresh_ it so naturally, San feels like his next breath is the best one he's ever taken.

"Beautiful, isn't it," Wooyoung whispers, and San finds himself nodding, out of his own accord.

"Yeah. Really is."

After San finished his yoghurt and shared some of his biscuits with Wooyoung, they think of ways to pass the time leading up to breakfast. They decide, at last, to pass time on the beach by trying to find baby crabs (with the flashlights on their phone as assistance) – and they call it a day when; (1) Wooyoung chased San down the beach with a hermit crab in his hand and San got (very badly) reminded of the time in fifth grade he was pinched by one, and (2) even Wooyoung, the one that was supposed to be immune to cold, was freezing his ass off when he finally let the damned crab go.

"It's –" He shudders, waddling over to San – "So – fucking – cold –" his body tremors again, and he rubs his hands together, trying to get some warmth back into his body. San can do nothing but nod back, teeth chattering, as the realization sinks into him that they have no way to get back in.

"Wha – what do we do?" Wooyoung whines. _Looks like he's woken up as well._

San knows the only way to get them back into a warm place was to wake up whoever slept in the last room of the ground floor. He tells Wooyoung this and they come to a unanimous decision, toddling over to the inn with hands stuffed deep in their pockets and red cheeks from the cold.

San peers in through the window. The curtains are drawn, so he knocks – _loudly_ – but to no avail. Not fazed yet, he raps his knuckles against the glass a second time, and is glad to see a light turn on inside the room – illuminating the silhouette of someone walking towards the window.

"I think it's –" San begins to say, as the curtains suddenly get flung open, and the appalled face of their second goalkeeper stares back at them.

"– Hyunsuk."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

Hyunsuk, the sweetheart he was, let the two of them in. It was a bit of a hassle and resulted in a lot of loud, mishappen thuds but thankfully no injuries, and within no time Hyunsuk had them both wrapped up in his and Jihoon's duvets (not before he scolds them for going out so early in the morning, though).

"So it was you two jumping out the window I heard an hour ago," Hyunsuk says, voice filled with amazement and disbelief. "If you both weren't here right now, I'd have never believed it."

"Don't tell anyone," San whispers desperately. "If the team finds out their captain has been jumping out of first-floor windows they might not even see me as a captain."

"It was a mad cool move, but Wooyoung's concerns were totally valid," Hyunsuk frowns at the two of them before laughing, "if you'd broken any bones it wouldn't have looked all that nice."

Wooyoung shoots San a smug look, one that practically screams _I told you so._

"Ten out of ten for the gameplan, though. I hope you enjoyed your date."

"It wasn't a date." They say simultaneously.

"Well then, whatever it was."

After they're feeling a little warmer they head back to their room, with only twenty minutes left for breakfast. The sounds of the students in their rooms waking up, arguing over who got to shower first, discussing what to wear and predicting breakfast menus were all that was audible as San and Wooyoung stroll down the corridor and finally reach the warmth of their own room.

"We're still seeing the sunrise, though," Wooyoung reminds him, as they turn the lights on and flop down onto his bed together.

"And oh, don't forget your chocolate chip cookies."

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

Jeongguk and Taehyung show up to the inn together. Taehyung's carrying a box neatly tied with a ribbon (the cookies!) and he brings Wooyoung and San aside to give it to them (they sneak two for themselves before transferring the rest to their room), telling them he enjoyed baking it and that Jeongguk had helped, as well.

Breakfast comes and goes much like San's will to study. The day's menu was cheese omelettes, milk and cereal, pancakes, rice and egg soup – all delicious, as usual – and the team leaves after clearing their dishes, the silence shocking after the constant buzz but still nice nevertheless.

"Hey, San," Wooyoung calls, from where he was sitting on the sand. He pats the spot next to him. "Here."

San plops himself down next to his roommate, eyes not tearing off the horizon as the sun begins to rise. The first few rays outline the water with a line of gold, the sky turning a warm shade of bluish-purple as the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky. 

He stares for a second, covers his eyes, and places an imaginary pair of sunglasses on the big fiery star.

As he does so, he's vaguely reminded of the way he used to draw the sun at a corner of the paper ( _with a pair of sunglasses,_ see) as he sees the glowing sphere of gas (just say it's the fucking Sun) for not the first time in his life, but what he realizes to be the first time he's seen it when it's actually bringing with it the sunlight San basked in (yeah, he's slept through every sunrise ever, what about it?). 

See, San had never been one for sunrises. He'd always preferred sunsets more because (1) he never had to wake up and (2) somehow those hours always happened to clash with his sentimental slash soft hours. More often than not San would find himself anticipating the end of the day than the beginning of a new one, just so he could recount the events of the day, what he had learnt and experienced, and the sunsets helped set the mood. Sunsets brought with the end of a day but also a period of time in which you could wait for a new one, or not face a new one at all: so San feels like every sunset should be treated like it's his last.

But holy shit, this sunrise is making him rethink every aspect of his beliefs.

He watches, awestruck, as the sky duplicates itself with a Leonardo Da Vinci painting (well, almost. San isn't an art student so he can't really say _but it must be pretty damn close_ ), pastel yet dazzling colours of crimson, tangerine and pink blending and weaving into each other seamlessly in the sky. The sea is a perfect mirror image of the skies and clouds above them and the two boys find themselves at a loss for words – as they sit there on the beach, listening to the dawn chorus of melodious birds and the waves of the Busan coast in front of them – it was something San never thought he'd find himself enjoying so wholly, taking in every moment as if the picture would dissipate before his very eyes if he didn't.

Wooyoung snaps a few pictures on his phone before he lies down on the sand, his eyes closing for a fleeting moment. San spectates, then does the same – still looking up at the sky, watching the last of the stars say farewells as the sun took reign.

"Do you regret anything?" He hears Wooyoung say, so softly he wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't been listening.

"No." San thinks back to the past seventeen years of his life, and realizes he's never actually watched a sunrise.

He'd always been more of a sunset person.

"This is my first time watching a sunrise," he admits, and there's an audible gasp from Wooyoung. He props himself up on his elbow, looking at San like he'd just said he hated handball.

"No way," Wooyoung mouths, surprise so evident on his face that San has to laugh.

"It really is. Thanks for this." San takes in a deep whiff of the ocean breeze, cold and tangy. "It's amazingly therapeutic."

"You can see the sunrise above Seoul from my apartment," Wooyoung states, "so I've grown kind of attached. I've seen them mostly without meaning to," he pauses, "because I stay up so late to study the next thing I know it's already golden hour."

"I normally make it a part of my day, visiting Hangang Park," San says, a little pang of homesickness making his words waver. "I've always been the more sunset type."

"Fair enough."

"And, Wooyoung," San frowns, now realizing what Wooyoung had just said. "Don't stay up that late to study, the fuck? It's not good for your health and your health is just as important if you want to study well."

"Yeah, but I don't like taking chances with my grades if I can help it." Wooyoung murmurs, and they fall silent.

They stay there for a little longer until the warmer spectrum of colours completely dissolves, the faintest tinges of the colours remaining as the sky lights up with the familiar baby blue San had grown so accustomed to seeing. It's almost 8:20 when they head back to their room, not as cold as they'd been previously but still kind of huffy (evident from how Wooyoung cocoons himself up in his duvet and refuses to leave until they had to go back to the beach again at 9). San makes sure Wooyoung dresses lighter this time – he lets the boy borrow one of his short-sleeve jerseys from the previous year (it says C. San on the back with the number 10 on it) and tells him to opt for shorts rather than sweatpants – refused, because it _was_ still cold.

When they get to the beach half the team are already assembled in their usual spot just a little down the inn. Training starts without much further ado when the full team is present, and carries on until eleven – the managers acting as makeshift referees with Hoseok's help ("Just in case you ever need to call out a referee's bullshit when you're watching matches with us," he tells them), the players drilling on their defence, attack tactics and even playing a dumb game of 10-pass (they couldn't do it).

San takes them around the beach for warm-down, finishing up with the stretches as quickly as he can since Hoseok had told him that there was something to discuss with the team. Letting curiosity get the better of him, he leads the team back to their meeting place in front of the inn, where Hoseok and the managers are already waiting for them.

"Hello," Hoseok says, as they settle down on the sand with towels draped around their necks and glugging water desperately. "You did well today. Not counting that shitty game of 10-pass I witnessed."

A few players snicker.

"Anyway," he carries on, "I've gathered you all to inform you about the practice match we have tomorrow."

Practice match.

The words are enough to ignite San's nerves with newfound energy – the competitive side in him already writhing to be on the court, scoring goal after goal after goal.

"It's with the Busan Highschool of Arts."

Silence.

"Weren't they... the champions last year?" Hyunsuk pipes in, tentatively.

"Yeah." Hoseok grins, almost like he'd just offered them a free lunch and not a death ticket against last year's champion team. "Which is why I think it'll be a good experience, learning from them. You do have the capability to beat them," he adds, "you just need to observe their players, how they score, how they defend, and counter-attack against it. Don't get your ego too inflated if you do beat them, though."

He stares around at the team, daring them to say anything more.

No one did, so he continues, "Okay then! More details during dinner. Rest day for the remainder of today. Do whatever you want, but get the rest you need. Put ice on your injuries if you need to. Eat well. Honestly just stay in bed," he concludes, making the team laugh. "That'll be all. Dismissed."

The team head back into the inn, all groans and whines as they get up from the sand and haul themselves to their respective rooms. San gets to shower first (per tradition) and Wooyoung after, a sense of ease and freshness washing over them once they're done and lying on their beds.

San usually doesn't take naps in the daytime, but he found his eyes closing almost despite himself. He looks over at Wooyoung, whose brows are furrowed as he reads something on his phone, and hums slightly before turning over to face the wall and closing his eyes.

****――――― ✧ ―――――** **

"San, you missed lunch."

_What._

He opens his eyes, suddenly conscious of the fact that he'd been drooling, and wipes at the corner of his mouth instinctively even though the logical part of his brain is screaming at him that Wooyoung's already seen it.

"I missed lunch?"

"Yeah, you fell asleep while I was reading up on Chemistry notes," Wooyoung replies, sheepishly. _Christ, he never stops studying._ "And you looked so peaceful I just let you rest."

San also becomes aware that he's all nicely tucked up under his duvet, which was surprising since he remembered falling asleep on top of it. He shoots Wooyoung a questioning gaze, and the other only smiles at him widely before getting off his bed.

"Come on, let's go get you some food," Wooyoung says, heading for the door. "I already had lunch with Yeosang and everyone else but there are some leftovers. There's yoghurt as a snack, by the way," he adds hopefully, and San feels his consciousness return back to him. _Yoghurt? Fuck yeah._

"And oh!" San's cut short by another exclamation from Wooyoung, "You drool in your sleep. It's cute. Anyway, hurry up, I'll be on the front porch."

_I knew he'd seen it._

"I'll bring some cookies," San calls in a lame attempt to switch topics, as Wooyoung closes the door and heads out.

Lunch is seafood soup, rice, kimchi and also a very delicious type of meatballs San had never tried before. He has yoghurt and cookies to finish off and Wooyoung to keep him company, mostly in silence but his presence being one of the most comforting things he'd ever felt. The time was already half past three – they had two hours at best before the sunset, and San (now that he'd taken a nap) no longer wanted to spend the span of time indoors.

"What do you want to do, then?" Wooyoung asks, after San had cleared his tray. "We could go look around Busan?"

"Nah," San shakes his head. "I want to do something that demands my energy."

"You have a match tomorrow," Wooyoung sounds exasperated, and San finds himself giggling.

"Yeah, I know." He pats Wooyoung's shoulder. "Do you know how to bike?"

"Well." Wooyoung frowns. "I'm not the best at it, but I guess I can ride without killing myself."

"Great," San says immediately. "Let's go biking. Jeonggukie-hyung always leaves him and Tae-hyung's bikes in the shed, because they usually use the car . . ."

Ignoring Wooyoung's little yelp of, _there's a SHED?,_ San leads him back to the lobby, where Jeongguk greets them from behind the counter.

"Hey boys," he calls. He looks at San, "did you enjoy your late lunch?"

"Yeah," San nods. "I actually came to ask you something. Is it possible for me and Wooyoung to borrow the bikes in the shed?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," Jeongguk grins. "Just be back before my shift ends and I think we'll be good to go. The password for the shed is 4579," he calls, as they turn around to head out. "And the bikes aren't locked, but Tae-hyung's one might be, so just in case his code is F4G78."

"F4G78," Wooyoung repeats. "Thanks again, hyung."

"You're welcome!" Jeongguk waves them off with a smile. 

San leads the way to the shed, which is at the back of the inn, tucked away like a little garage or storeroom of sorts that no one would've noticed if they hadn't been looking closely enough. He punches in the key, the door swinging open and a flickering yellow light switching on automatically.

There were three bikes in the shed, but San knew which ones were Jeongguk's and Taehyung's – he lets Wooyoung take Taehyung's one (it _was_ locked) and he takes Jeongguk's, both of the locks safely in the pocket of his jacket. Before setting off, he offers Wooyoung his right AirPod, and he plays _Eight_ by IU and BTS' Suga – one of his favourite drive songs from years and years ago, somehow never getting tiring no matter how much he listened to it; it really aged like fine wine over the century.

They bike around Busan for a while, no talk and just listening to the songs playing on the AirPods they shared that remind San all too much of summer road-trips and cascading sunsets over mountaintops. Through the course of the trip, San also finds out that Wooyoung sucks _ass_ at turning corners, nearly tumbling off his bike and scraping his knees every time they did. So he made Wooyoung bike up front, much to the other's protests – "Wooyoung, if you stay behind me and fall off and break a leg or something, I'd literally never know so get up front!" – they enjoy it though, music forgotten over their loud ecstatic screams as they pedalled down empty streets, San's hands momentarily off the handlebars and tucked behind his head. 

By the time it's 05:00 PM, they've raced, San's done what little tricks he could, Wooyoung's scraped both his knees and they're both equal parts tired and exhilarated as they pull up to a café on the street they'd just been biking down.

"What do you want?" San asks, leaving the bike near the kerb. Wooyoung does the same, gaze dropping down to his red-tinged knees, the ends of his pants rolled up and exposing his legs to the cold.

"I'm fine with anything," Wooyoung places a hand on his knee, retracting it to see a few spots of blood on his hand. "Get tissues and some water if you can, though. And a warm drink, I suppose."

Wooyoung sits down on the pavement, as San disappears into the warmth of the café. He comes out not much later with two steaming cups, something that looks like a water bottle bulging out from his pocket.

"Here," he hands Wooyoung one of the cups and sits down next to him, leaving his own drink next to him on the pavement as he damps a few tissues with the bottle of water he'd gotten.

"Focus on the goodness of your hot chocolate as I try to . . . clean this up," San coughs, eyeing pointedly towards Wooyoung's bashed knees. Wooyoung laughs.

"You enjoy your drink, I'll do it –"

"No, it's fine." San's voice is firm, and Wooyoung must've gotten the message because he takes a sip of his hot chocolate, silent.

He gently dabs the wet tissue on Wooyoung's right knee first, surprised at how well the boy was handling the sting that would've resulted. He presses a new tissue onto his left knee afterwards – this wound must've hurt more, because Wooyoung lets out an audible gasp and San recoils his hand, panicked.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just –" Wooyoung takes in a shaky breath. "That stung a little. It's okay though."

San hums, taking a new dry tissue and wiping both of his knees. He pats his pockets down, fingers briefly brushing against the cold metal of the bike locks and a few packets of Rasily supari he'd stuffed there way before the trip. He finally finds what he's looking for, and brings it out in all its glory – around five pink Hello Kitty band-aids stuck to each other, something he often carried around when he went to training just in case he ever slipped up.

(Don't ask him why he got Hello Kitty. He thought it was cute at the time. 

To be honest, he still does.)

San looks up at Wooyoung, who stares back at him, cheeks flushed from what he makes out to be the cold and the adrenaline. "You don't mind, right?"

"No," Wooyoung replies hastily. "Of course not."

San gently plasters the band-aids onto Wooyoung's knees, crisscrossing them in every way to make sure the wounds weren't exposed. Once he's done he sits down on the kerb next to him, fingers curling around the warm cup of hot chocolate.

"San," Wooyoung says, after a moment of comfortable silence.

"You have a match tomorrow."

_Control C + Control V from back at the inn._

"Yeah, but I didn't get injured," San shoots back, eager to defend himself.

"Hoseokie-hyung won't be pleased if he found out we did this."

"We won't tell him."

"That's not gonna work, once we pull up at the beach on the bikes and get into the lobby for a horrifyingly late dinner everyone's gonna know we went biking. And," Wooyoung adds, pouting angrily, "you better be straight in bed after dinner, if you want to have anything. Or I'm not cheering for you in tomorrow's match."

"That's mean," San puts a hand on his heart, exaggerating his horrified expression.

"Come on, finish your drink." Wooyoung ignores him and faces ahead, but San sees the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

They empty their hot chocolate and mount their bikes once again, AirPods in and shivers running down their spines from the cold.

"Ready?" San asks. Wooyoung nods, setting off ahead.

"Go."

And they take off on their bikes for the second time that day – summer songs playing in their ears a few months too early, knuckles white as they grip the handlebars to ride into the sunset once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you made it to the end!! congrats :D I'll try not to take so long next time wheeew. please leave comments and/or kudos if you enjoyed, they rly make my day!! :') here's the link to the playlist ( [make a wish](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sqSsTsK9cX7Mt2rcaKoFe?si=8fLl1jt_RLKWzxYy1BmvYg) ) annnd you can reach me on twt ( @chimflowers ) if you like! till next time, byee <3


	11. "Even a vehicle is more punctual than you, Choi San!" - Someone on the Danwon team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know," San's voice snaps Wooyoung out of his trance. "This place is huge."
> 
> "They have something to flex," Wooyoung agrees.
> 
> They wait outside the gates for a while before they see two figures approaching from the far end of the corridor in the main building, two men – one rather tall, lean and dark-haired, the other slightly shorter, a mat of grey-ish white hair peeking out from underneath his snapback.
> 
> Wooyoung only realizes who they are once they reach the lift lobby in the main building – and his hand reaches out to alert San immediately, but it's already too late.
> 
> San visibly freezes under his touch as their Uber driver swings the gate open for the team.
> 
> "Hi there," Seonghwa grins at them. "Welcome to Busan Highschool of Arts. Make yourself at home!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HELLO!! guess who's finally updating, that's right -- me :D i'm so sorry for the lack of updates but here's an almost 6k word chapter to make up for it!!!! thank you all for the 2.4k hits and almost 150 kudos, it means the absolute world to me :( <3 without further ado, here's the update hehe

Wooyoung decides against waking San up before sunrise the next morning.

(Not only because he's in a really deep sleep, but also because he doesn't want any more unnecessary jumping-out-of-windows if he can help it. Not when they had a match today.)

He's already wide awake and it's a few minutes before their alarm at six. He flips onto his tummy and his knees protest against the newfound friction on the wounds, Wooyoung choosing to ignore it as he buries his face in the pillow for a while.

The match is at four o'clock that afternoon. Morning practice had been cancelled so that players could get more rest, and breakfast would be served up until 10 o'clock as well. Wooyoung considers switching their alarms off and sleeping in until 9 – extra sleep looked _really_ appetizing when he took into account the packed schedule they had ahead.

Managers had to get the things ready – first aid kits, bibs, water bottles, ice packs, all of it. During lunchtime they'd also have to check every player's nails (just so they could save time when they reach the host school). Not to mention Hoseok and his very clear tendency of making sure all the managers were watching the opponents, their own players, and the referee – fair play meant a whole lot to the bunch.

Wooyoung is taken back to yesterday. Honestly, he feels like all of it had been a huge fever dream – a figment of his imagination he's too scared to poke even with a 3-meter long pole. This whole _trip_ feels like a whole new universe, one where Wooyoung's mind completely let itself unravel and he's able to _breathe_ and do things he never pictured himself doing – dying his hair because he lost stupid bets, going crab-hunting on the beach before sunrise, _watching_ a sunrise properly, going biking in the late afternoon, getting in trouble, then going swimming _because_ he got in trouble, even eating as much as he liked without worrying there wouldn't be any left for his sister and mother and father – it feels _so_ unrealistic Wooyoung has to take a double take.

Wooyoung was _living._

He was actually living, immersing himself into the small things in life he hadn't really bothered with after he'd crossed the school gates into Danwon High. He was letting himself breathe, letting himself discover the life he'd been missing out on all because of how his mind was way too tightly wound around the letters that ended up on his test paper.

All of _that_ – and all because of San. _The_ Choi San. Wooyoung wonders how he got here with one of – if not the most – popular and loved kid in Year 12. _The_ Choi San had taken him out to ice cream and KFC, comforted him over his Physics results, fed him ramen, plastered Hello Kitty band-aids on his knees, cried in front of him, watched his first sunrise with him – man. Was Wooyoung in some Wattpad fanfiction?

(Not that he was about to complain.)

Pushing all San-related thoughts aside Wooyoung closes his eyes, opening it what seemed like a second later to see San hovering above him, his hand poised as though he were going to poke him.

"Oh." San sounds so crestfallen Wooyoung lets out a snort of laughter. "You woke up."

"Yeah, I woke up a few minutes before six." Wooyoung flicks his gaze upwards and sees the time reading 8:33. "I didn't think you'd wake up. I was going to wake you up at nine."

"Oh." Again, in that tiny voice. Wooyoung sits up, clearing his throat.

"Come on, let's go get breakfast."

They get ready and are out of the room at five to nine. Down the hallway, Yeosang and Jongho had just gotten out as well, and Wooyoung lets out a gasp before he practically barrels down the corridor and into his best friend's arms.

"Hey," behind them, San greets a struggling Yeosang and Jongho. "Good morning."

" _Yes,_ agh, good – good morning to you too Sani," Yeosang wheezes, Wooyoung still not ceasing his grip on the boy. "Wooyoung, let go please my fucking lungs are seizing –"

(Wooyoung doesn't let go.)

The four of them sit down on the front porch, kimchi fried rice and yoghurt (and Wooyoung's extra choice of fruits) in their trays. They talk about previous matches of the years prior and Jongho vents very passionately about some of the teams they'd played against, San backing him up heatedly.

"Sometimes referees are just as brainless as the players," Jongho complains. Yeosang stares pointedly at the untouched bottle of yoghurt laying abandoned in his tray.

"A player could've tackled in defence but suddenly the referee will see them 'make contact' with their neck or something and then send the player off with a 2-minute penalty." Jongho's silenced by Yeosang, who cracked open the yoghurt and shoves it in his mouth.

"It's annoying," he says a minute later, after swallowing the yoghurt. They laugh.

Yeosang offers to go and clear their trays once they're done. Jongho heads back into the inn after saying he wanted to call his parents. Wooyoung snatches the last of the oranges off his tray, holding them in his hand as he works down them one by one. San digs around in his pockets and brings out a packet with brown nuts in it, biting down on the wrapper and quite literally _ripping_ the thing clear of all its content.

"What the fuck –" Wooyoung spits his orange out, boggle-eyed. "What is _that_?"

"Supari," San answers, the cracking of the nuts as he chewed becoming obnoxiously loud with each second.

"Areca nuts?"

"Yes."

"Those aren't _good_ for you, Choi San," Wooyoung screeches, hand reaching up and smacking San's cheek. The latter wailed.

"But it tastes so good," he whines, frowning at Wooyoung. "See, I have a few more packets in here somewhere – have you tried this stuff? It's so good."

_Is he being for real?_ "No, I don't want to."

"Come on." San continues cracking away as he rummages in his pocket once again. He brings out another one of the packets, reading _Rasily_ on it in big red letters – it _does_ look appetizing, but there's no way Wooyoung's risking his oral health to chew away on betel nuts.

"No, San," Wooyoung chides, snatching the packet from his hand and tossing it far down the beach. San lets out a strangled noise.

"I know you can pay for dentist appointments of the whole team twice over –" San snorts – "but please don't eat that. Or if you're going to, just eat it sparingly. Why would you eat that when you can have _gummies?_ "

"And lollipops," Yeosang says from behind them, making them jump. He holds out two lollipops (oh, bless Yeosang and his love for lollipops) and Wooyoung snatches one, unwrapping it and shoving it into San's mouth.

"What the fuck –" San splutters, spitting out the condensed ball of orange flavour. "Wait till I'm done with my Supari for fuck's sake!"

"I have more," Yeosang suggests. "I keep a few in my pocket every time I go out."

"Please give me some," Wooyoung looks San up and down once, and the other boy whimpers. "He's gonna break his teeth at this rate, how are your parents okay with this?"

"They don't know," San shoots back, "and it's not like they'd care either."

They head back into the inn still bickering, playful banter echoing through the halls as they make their way up the stairs and back to their respective rooms. San's finally done chewing on his damn Supari when they get back and has started working away at his orange-flavoured lollipop.

"You wanna rest? Nap?" Wooyoung asks, watching San keenly as he collapses onto the bed and proceeds to stare at the ceiling as if it projected the sky above them.

"Nah," San shakes his head, lollipop leaving his lips with an obscene pop.

Wooyoung hums. "Sure then. Whatever you say."

Silence. Heavy, thick, but somehow it's comforting at the same time – it's not cold or tense, it's just weighing Wooyoung and the air around him down into a pancake against the mattress. Gently.

The lack of speech throws thickens the noiselessness and Wooyoung's eyelids cave into the weight.

That's how they end up falling asleep, anyway.

**――――― ✧ ―――――**

The next time Wooyoung wakes up, it's a half past one.

He wakes San up and drags him to lunch immediately – the other desperately wiping away the dried drool tracks on the sides of his mouth, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and complaining that it was too fucking bright as they trekked out onto the beach.

Wooyoung feeds San his meal (rice, fish, some kind of soup and lemonade for a drink) first before he does so himself – the players were first priority here and they needed their meals a solid two hours before the match. Jiwoo and Yerim get around to checking the boys' nails as they ate, making notes of players who needed to get them cut and reminding them to _not_ chew them off last minute. San's complaints don't die down as Wooyoung stuffs spoon after spoon of rice into the boy's mouth ("See, you fed me last time, and I don't think you're currently capable of feeding yourself – look at you, you're a wreck!") but he ignores them smugly, his plate soon cleared and San fully stuffed.

"Are you awake now?" Wooyoung laughs, as San falls back onto the sand and sticks his tongue out at him.

"Very much, thank you." He sits up and takes a swig of his lemonade, still cold and refreshing. Somehow he looks even more bloated right now than he did when he initially woke up in the morning.

(Probably what happens when you sleep right after eating.)

San waits until Wooyoung finishes eating, before they head back into their room. Now it's two o'clock – barely an hour left, since the schedule had mentioned that they'd be leaving at three. San hops into the shower first, getting out and pulling on his jersey in record time – and Wooyoung follows suit (not as fast, but faster than he usually would be). They get busy packing their bags with anything they might need – extra bottles of water, 100 plus, towels, nail clippers, some extra lemonade from lunch San had poured into a thermos – and then came San's knee guards, Surgibands, Hello Kitty bandaids, slippers, hairband, and captain's armband. Wooyoung packs his tablet, headphones, more bottles of water, and a change of socks (don't ask him why, he just felt it was necessary). By a quarter to three, they're out on the front porch where Hoseok is already assembling the team, bags in hand, more than ready for the match.

"It's a ten-minute drive," Hyunsuk calls over the noise of the nonstop chatter as he sees them approach. "Bus arrives at three sharp, we've gotten the grounds for warm-up from 3:30 to 3:45."

"Okay, noted," San yells back.

The bus _does_ arrive at three sharp ("Even a fucking vehicle is more punctual than you, San!") and they board in a blur of bags, jerseys and excited but nervous players. They, much to Hoseok's dismay, pass the time (and uncanny nerves) by singing to nursery rhymes at the top of their lungs (with the windows of the bus wide open) – one could hear them ending 'Bingo Was His Name-o' overenthusiastically as they drew up to the towering buildings of Busan Highschool of Arts.

"Okay, everyone off," Jiwoo called, and the team scramble for the doors like a swarm of bees.

Wooyoung's first impression, right off? This school was _huge._ And when he said huge, he meant _huge_ huge. Danwon looked minuscule when weighed with BHA. Right past the gates was the main building, fifteen storeys tall – burning white against the blue of the sky, tinted windows with guards in front overlooking the streets below. When he peers inside, he can spot the grounds – multi-purpose, with various coloured lines outlining boundaries for separate sports, and a small garden flourishing with varieties of flowers and plants on the very left side near the wall. There seems to be another older, more worn-down building adjacent to the much more grand one, paint slightly peeled and the classes empty except for piles of boxes, but still standing nevertheless.

"I know," San's voice snaps Wooyoung out of his trance. "This place is _huge._ "

"They have something to flex," Wooyoung agrees.

They wait outside the gates for a while before they see two figures approaching from the far end of the corridor in the main building, two men – one rather tall, lean and dark-haired, the other slightly shorter, a mat of grey-ish white hair peeking out from underneath his snapback.

Wooyoung only realizes who they are once they reach the lift lobby in the main building – and his hand reaches out to alert San immediately, but it's already too late.

San visibly freezes under his touch as their Uber driver swings the gate open for the team.

"Hi there," Seonghwa grins at them. "Welcome to Busan Highschool of Arts. Make yourself at home!"

**――――― ✧ ―――――**

San is, quite simply putting it, having a breakdown.

The school itself was overwhelming enough, with its towering buildings and pristine interior. And _then,_ he had to see Seonghwa walk up to them, all smiles and fucking handsome looks, as if he hadn't just ripped San's heart right out of his chest cavity and trampled on it with his spotless white Converse.

Now San is even more intent on leaving the school with a score embarrassing enough to make Busan Highschool back out of the actual tournament.

His ears are ringing as he follows the team into the school, Wooyoung's steely grip on his shoulder not fazing him as Seonghwa leads them to the other side of the old building. There was a second flat ground, covered in a modest layer of dusty sand, which went up like tufts of smoke outlined against the sunlight as the boys kicked. The school hall is right across the old building, and there's a slightly smaller building on the left, two storeys tall (and abandoned), which looks like it's conjoined with the building above the hall ("You see the corridor up there? It turns right and you can look down on the hall from there." Seonghwa says, pointing upwards). It's also now that the Danwon players realize that the main building stretches up until the mango tree in front of the hall – old, big and shading a large part of the compound with its massive size.

Busan Highschool was a _big_ complex.

(Okay, well, of course there were bigger complexes – but compared to Danwon, this place was _humungous._ Two grounds and four buildings? If that didn't scream rich to San, then he didn't know what did.)

"It's 3:25 now," Seonghwa says, now done droning on about the school, "let's head back to the other ground and meet my team before you begin your warm-ups, shall we?"

_My team._

_Is he the fucking head coach?_

San avoids all eye contact with Seonghwa (very noticeably, too) as he turns around to join his team to make their way back to the main court. There's a flurry of colourful jerseys standing in a line in front of the reception – waiting, San realizes, for them to arrive because the minute their first players show through to the opposite side, the Busan team immediately begin bowing. It's also now that San realizes that they only have nine players – which was kind of weird considering how every other team he'd played with always had fourteen, seven for full-court and seven as substitutes.

The Danwon players bow back, all due respects being paid before the Busan team step aside onto the corridors so that the Danwon players could warm up.

"Okay, folks," San calls, gathering them around in a huddle, "normal routine, I'll cut the jogging some slack to around 5 rounds today because this court is quite big. Keep up the _fucking_ pace or I'll grill your dicks when we're done."

The players grimace.

"I'll make sure Wooyoung runs behind to make sure you all jog along," San says, eyeing Wooyoung pointedly. The manager looks dazed, pointing to himself as though to say, _what, me?_ and San only nods in reply. "We're here to play a practice match and if we want them to take us seriously then we should show them reasons to do that. Don't slack off." He faces front, then turns around again. "I'll repeat myself. Do _not_ slack off."

A few heads bob in agreement.

San leads them through warm-ups, his mind reeling as they finish up with stretches and dynamics and only two minutes on the clock. The Busan team has already gathered in front of the 'officials' table – in this case it was just a table where _Seonghwa's_ assistant was seated, a slim black tablet in hand (it was most likely connected to the scoreboard displayed above the lobby. Did BHA host a lot of competitions? It looked like it).

San and his team line up next to their opponents, silent but fiddly from nerves. Hoseok goes to check their nails and Seonghwa comes to check theirs. He catches Wooyoung's gaze from where he's sitting on the chairs they'd set up, sending him a silent plea for help as Seonghwa came nearer.

_What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. He's so near –_

"Hi, San." Seonghwa grins widely at him, and San grins back awkwardly, ignoring the fact that his heart had just completely broken down and was struggling to restart.

"You didn't tell me you were a Danwon student." _Maybe I didn't find it necessary to let you know that._

He was so close – so, so close that he could smell the perfume Seonghwa was wearing, slightly sweet but still masculine in a way that wasn't overpowering.

San swallows thickly as Seonghwa observes his nails.

"You're fine." He takes San's hand in his, _briefly,_ and the touch is so _sudden_ and so _gentle_ San grabs his hand back as though he'd been electrocuted. Seonghwa blinks, then smiles again.

". . . You're cute too." A subtle wink. San's entire cardiovascular system breaks down once again.

_He hadn't done that with any other player?_

_WHAT?_

_Is he_ flirting _with me?_

He's so stunned he doesn't notice Seonghwa's assistant calling for the team captains until Wooyoung waves at him like a madman, a screech of 'CHOI SAN!' sending him out of his trance and into the real world where both his team and the opponents were laughing . . .

. . . And so was Seonghwa.

(He'll ignore that last bit.)

He walks to the officials' table where the white-haired man sat (was his hair really white? Was it grey? San really couldn't tell), and he's joined by the opposing team's tallest member, his captain's armband tight around his bicep and his eyes steely and cold as he shook hands with San.

Even his grip was stony. San quite literally felt his bones disintegrate.

"Hey, Seunghun," the man at the table greets, then focusing on San, "and hello to you . . .?"

"San," San says hastily. "Choi San."

"San," the official repeats slowly. "Ooo-kay. I'm Hongjoong, Seonghwa's assistant, and I'll be scorekeeping this match . . . here's a flip coin. San, you take black, Seunghun, red. Okay?"

The captains nod.

Hongjoong tosses the coin – it clatters to the ground, spinning around happily for a good minute before finally coming to a stop on its black side.

San processes it too late, and Hongjoong clears his throat loudly.

"Which side?" He asks. San looks around – the managers are already relaxed in the makeshift row of benches they'd built from chairs, the players milling around in anticipation. The bags are already piled onto a single chair, and it looks like it'll be a real hassle to move them.

So he points to the goal on their side. "That one."

Hongjoong nods. "Okay, Seunghun, you're up to start. Players!"

Seonghwa hears the call and blows the whistle, Hoseok doing the same. The first seven players from Danwon are hurried into their blindingly yellow bibs and then to their positions, eyes locking with their respective partners from the opposing team as they lined up.

"Play fair," Hoseok reminds them. "We're guests here."

"Remember, this is a practice match," Hongjoong announces, his voice abnormally loud for his small figure, "30 minutes per half, can't cut you any slack or you'll want less in the actual tournament. All rules apply and I'm sure the coaches will be watching." He clears his throat, eyeing Seonghwa.

Getting the memo, Seonghwa puts the whistle to his lips, and blows.

The match begins. San steps out immediately, the team shuffling into five-one position – five at the back, San in front just outside the nine-meter line. He had all the advantages of using this formation, since he was center-back and also rather small, allowing him to be more agile on his feet and deflect passes up front more easily.

Seunghun passes the ball to a shorter boy on the very left, calling, "Mark!" as he did so. San files away the name. He watches as Mark hesitates on the spot before moving, one, two, three steps – and then Sunwoo jumps in front of him, arms extended around his sides but not touching.

"SUNWOO –" San begins, only to get cut off by an angry growl from Mark.

"SUNWOO, LISTEN –" One, two, three –

_TWEET!_

Hoseok walks over, whistle caught in between his lips as he pointed towards the side Danwon was attacking.

"Danwon ball," he calls.

" _MARK!_ " Seonghwa screams from down the court. " _WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE FEINTING I TAUGHT YOU?_ "

San stifles a laugh. Sunwoo picks up the ball, passing it to him, and the game resumes.

_These_ people were last year's champions?

Doubtable.

" _HE WASN'T HOLDING YOU,_ " Seonghwa's voice trills, " _YOU COULD HAVE MOVED!_ "

_He was the same person who was flirting with me a couple of minutes ago._

"I'M SORRY!" Mark yells back, frustration evident on his face from having fucked up so early into the game.

Sunwoo carries on down the court, dribbling, passing to San when the situation became too dire for the ball to remain bouncing on the ground. He could hear Seunghun yelling at his team to fall into defence as they draw closer to the nine-meter line, San himself barking at Haknyeon to stay back on their side in case BHA ever tried a fast break. Of course one player wouldn't be enough to hold back a whole hoard of boys, but Haknyeon was good at defence and as long as he could hold back the player with the ball it would give them time to advance back to defence.

Strategic thinking.

San eyes the defence line of the opposing team as he dribbles. He dribbles, and dribbles, examining every player and their setup as a whole. He sees _one_ chink in their suit of armour – the spacing between their players while up on defence was horrifying.

He's sure he can fit a whole elephant through there.

He doesn't know if he can trust them to be that mindless with formations as they play, but he doesn't take a chance. He shoots one look at his teammates, gathers the ball into his hand and runs – for the gap in between Seunghun and someone whose jersey read 'Lucas' – Seunghun lets out a yell and immediately clashes shoulders with Lucas as though to stop San, who stops at a zero in front of them and shoots them a dazzling smile.

"Hi," he chirps, before ducking wildly to the left. The whole defence line falls to the left with him and he changes to the right immediately, taking three steps – left, right, left – before jumping, arm raised, shooting the ball directly into the top left corner of the goal, barely missing the goalkeeper's fingertips.

He hears the whistle blow, and his teammates let out an ear-splitting yell in celebration. The BHA goalkeeper looks around, dazed, and then drops his gaze to his gloved hands as if chastising them for failing him.

San usually doesn't like being spiteful, especially when he's on the winning side – but he can't help but shoot a look at Mark, whose mouth opens and closes akin to a blubbing goldfish.

"And that's on people who know how to feint," he says, before heading back to their side for defence.

The game resumes. The scoring is very back-and-forth – BHA loved pulling fast breaks but only got away with it thrice, the score currently a not-so-glorious 19-15 in favour of Danwon. San's already been pulled off court twice for becoming a little too physical during defence, Wooyoung shoving oranges at him to pass the time as he watched Danwon play as six with a rather mournful look on his face. The managers are thoroughly enjoying and don't hesitate to point out when Seonghwa _or_ Hoseok become biased with their players. There was one instance when a boy on the BHA team got a yellow card ("I BARELY EVEN TOUCHED HIM?") and of course there were the obvious careless mistakes of overstepping, double-dribbles and linecuts.

But the sexy feints, barely-made-it-in goals and adrenaline-pumping fast breaks are enough to counter for all the stupid mistakes they'd made. Maybe San won't grill their dicks after all.

It's a few minutes to the end of the second half now. The score is at 29-31, favour of Danwon, and the BHA players aren't happy about it. Player Xiaojun from BHA gets a yellow card from Hoseok, later getting switched to a two-minute penalty. Danwon gets three penalties and misses two. BHA gets a free throw and scores. Xiaojun makes it back on court and he's able to send in another goal. The score becomes tied in under two minutes.

The pressure settles in.

"We can't lose," San growls, as they head back to the center-line for throw off. "There's no fucking way."

There's a collective yell of, _GO, DANWON!_ from the managersas they throw off. San gets held back when he tries to shoot and gets a nine-meter clear. He sends the ball to the far right and Hyunjin bursts in from the wing, throttling the ball into the far corner and adding their score one-up.

"Back to def –" San begins, only to get cut off by three trills from the whistle.

"End of game!" Hongjoong calls. "Well done! Danwon wins, 32-31!"

"That's a lousy score," Yohan grumbles, as they line up for the obligatory handshakes.

San re-evaluates the match. Okay, he may have doubted them in the beginning, but now it was super evident how they had snatched up championships the last year. They were _evil,_ constantly switching up players with the few people they had, never sticking to one position and one tactic (although they did love storming the court with their fast breaks). San wonders if Seonghwa had coached them the year before, too – because as great of a job he was doing with a mind that didn't set him aside from Satan himself, he really needed to teach his players how to feint.

They could score goal after goal after goal unforgivingly but barely feint to make it past defence?

What's not clicking.

The teams finish up their handshakes, choruses of 'good game' and 'you did well' repeating until they split and went to their respective sides. The Danwon team is crackling with energy, Hoseok complimenting their play and spirit as the players chug down their water desperately.

"That was good," he says, "not excellent but it was a great match. Winning by one goal isn't the best thing out there but they're last year's champions and you still won. Doesn't mean that from now on you should let more than 30 goals enter our side," he squints at the players. "Defence did slack at some point and that's how they got a majority of their goals in, but learn from this experience. Anyway, the bus will be here soon, pack up and say your goodbyes."

They help the Busan team clear away the chairs and bid their farewells before boarding the bus back to the inn. San flops onto a seat and directs the air conditioning right at his face, Wooyoung sitting down next to him and following suit.

"That was mad cool," he says, after a while. They've set off now and the sun is already setting, the atmosphere in the bus light with a soft, comfortable chatter among players.

"You played so well."

"Thanks, Wooyoung," San smiles. "It wasn't my best but it was a good first-match to show you all."

"It was more than good," Wooyoung practically _speaks_ in pout, obstinate, "I actually enjoyed myself so much and the only sport I can watch without falling asleep is basketball. And football," he adds.

"And swimming," San chips in as well. Wooyoung laughs.

"Yeah, and swimming."

**――――― ✧ ―――――**

They're soon back at the inn, where the managers busy themselves with setting out the meals as the players rested on the beach. Wooyoung helps San eat for a second time that day because San seriously looks like he's going to knock out then and there – even helping him walk back to their room when they were done, reminding him to do his stretches and make use of the icepack in the fridge so he didn't feel sore the next day. 

San's out cold the minute he's under the covers, which wasn't surprising considering the intense match they'd played and the lack of time they'd had to rest right after. Wooyoung sits on San's bed for a few minutes, absentmindedly drumming on the table on his right as he gazed at his roommate's sleeping figure, then out the window at the stars, and back at San's face. He was genuinely one of the prettiest boys Wooyoung had ever laid his eyes on – he seemed to almost _glow_ under the faint luminescence of the night sky, as though the celestial bodies were a part of who he was.

Wooyoung's never liked anyone. He's never had a crush (of course he's found tons of people attractive, but not to the point where he'd actually put an effort into trying to get them to like him back) – most of his consciousness as a student was poured into studying, revising, doing assignments weeks before they were due. He'd never really cared much for his social life after he'd entered high school – as long as he could get out of there with a scholarship and the Best All-Rounder award, then he'd be content.

His plans for the year had been relatively simple: study, eat, barely sleep a wink, cry, rinse and repeat. Notch it up twice or so for the summer.

At least, that's what they _had_ been until San came along.

Suddenly his plans didn't seem all that simple anymore.

If Wooyoung had been sketching his life away on a notebook, he'd have ended up with squiggly shapes and lines that could draw equals with a three-year-old's artwork. San's appearance in his life felt like his whole drawing was erased, his pencil snatched – the drawing coming out more intricate and detailed as San offers his contributions. Colours, depths, values, shades.

It didn't look nearly as bleak as it did before.

San was already on his way to becoming a lot of Wooyoung's firsts.

The buzz of his phone vibrating echoed into the room and he makes a hasty grab for it, wondering who would call at this hour. It's his mother – he drags to pick up, putting the phone to his ear and padding back to his side of the room.

"Hi, mum," Wooyoung croaks, voice hushed as though to not wake San up.

"Hi, Wooyoung-ah. I missed you," his mother replies, and there's a layer of sadness under her façade that throws him off immediately.

"What's wrong." It comes off sounding more like a heartbroken statement than a question. "Why do you sound like that?"

"Wooyoung-ah . . ." his mother's voice trails off and Wooyoung's heart shatters as he hears a sniffle.

"Mum . . . I know there's likely no way I can help but –" he draws in a breath, tears already pricking his eyes as he listens to his mother's muffled cries over the line – "please. Tell me."

"They cut the power out again today because our bill from last month is pending." The words feel like a shot to Wooyoung's heart. "Haeun's over at a friend's right now because I couldn't stand having to keep her here. Not when . . ." Her voice breaks. "Not when we can't even afford to pay something as basic as the electricity bills."

"It's not your fault," Wooyoung breaks, a tear rolling down his cheek. "It's not your fault, Mum, please –"

"If not ours, then whose, Wooyoung?" She silences him. "Are you trying to tell me that it's not our faults we're stuck in horrible jobs that can't even pay us the bare minimum? That we're drowning in debt for so many people after getting robbed of our own money? Wooyoung, don't try to be funny."

He can't reply.

"It is our fault," she whispers. "We're not the great parents you make us out to be, Wooyoung."

_Yeah, sometimes you aren't._ The words get stuck in his chest.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, a sob escaping his throat right after.

"Don't be," his mother replies, inhaling sharply. "And don't cry, Wooyoung, please. It's the most heartbreaking thing I've ever heard."

He sniffles.

"I just wanted to check on you," she continues, "I hope you've been having fun."

"I have," Wooyoung replies softly, wiping his tears away on his pillow. "Everyone's so nice and I – I feel like I've been living."

"That's great."

"I'll be home in two days, Mum," Wooyoung reminds. "I swear, we'll work something out, please just –" What could he say? _Ask someone for help? Take another stupid loan?_ All of it sounded wrong to his ears – "just hang in there, I promise it'll be fine."

He knows it won't be.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart," she says instead. "I'm sorry for burdening you with this. Good night."

"I love you," Wooyoung whispers, in a desperate attempt to console both himself and his mother.

The call ends before he can hear a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you made it!!! if you enjoyed, leave kudos (and a comment if u want, so i know i'm not posting into the void HAHAH) <3 they rly make my day :D I'll update as soon as i have the next chapter done!!! here's the link to the playlist ( [make a wish](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sqSsTsK9cX7Mt2rcaKoFe?si=8fLl1jt_RLKWzxYy1BmvYg) ) and u can reach me on twt ( @chimflowers ) if u would like to talk !!
> 
> until next time <33


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